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January to June, 1893. 

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Vol. V. 


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" WE SWEAR ! " 



Shafts from an Eastern Quiver. 


By Charles J, Mansford, B,A, 


11 :lare that the 

Dhahs is a 
d Hassan — 
s expression 
nk that can 

be true/' responded Denviers ; ** it is hardly 

possible that any civilised human being 

would care to reign over such 

a queer race as those just 

described appear to be " 

" The Englishman is wrong 

in what he says," interrupted 

an indolent-looking native, 

" for I once saw her myself ! " 
M You ! " I exclaimed, 

" then tell us what you know 

abou t thi s q uee n . " The nati ve 

was, however, by no means 

disposed to conversation, or 

indeed to do anything that 

disturbed his serenity. 

From Southern India we 

had crossed over to Ceylon, 

and after a somewhat pro- 
longed stay at Colombo, 

struck into the interior of 

the island We visited 

Kandi, and having travelled 

for some days in the hilly 

district which surrounds it, 

arrived at the palm ^covered 

hut of a Cingalese labourer, , 

where, in spite of his pro- 
tests, we stayed for a day to 

rest ourselves. Round the 

stems of the palms about us 

we saw, high up, that dead 

brushwood had been placed, 

by the rustling of which at 

night our unwilling host could 

tell if his few neighbours con- 
templated robbing him of the fruits of his 

toil. The only work, however, which he 

seemed to do was to stand at the door of 

his hut and gaze vacantly at the plantation 

of palm trees which he owned, and to 

shake his head — usually in the negative- 
whenever we attempted to entice him into a 

** Well," said Denviers, looking with annoy- 
ance at our host, " if this Cingalese is too idle 
to tell us the full facts, I suppose we had 
better find them out for ourselves," Then 
turning to the man he asked : — - 

" How far is the district over which these 


strange Dhahs are said to wander?" The 
native pointed slowly to the north and then 
answered '-— irioins from 

"ThfflPI^ afar in de- 

forest when last I saw them, which was ful' 

Vol v -x, 


a day's journey from here ? but the sun was 
hot and I grew tried." His remark certainly 
did not convey much information to us, but 
before an hour had elapsed we set out, guided 
only by the forest, which could be seen far 
away in the distance. Hour after hour 
passed until at Inst evening came, and even 
then we were only e Altering upon the fringe 
of the great forest which rose before us* and 
seemed to shut out the sky as we wandered 
into the thickness of the undergrowth and 
gazed up at the lofty tops of the trees which 
bent each other's branches as they interlaced 
one with another. 

We stopped at last to rest and to refresh 
ourselves, after which we reclined upon the 
ground, facing a 
wide clearing in 
the forest, where 
we laid talking 
idly for some 
time, until the 
voice of Hassan 
warned us that 
someone was ap- 
proaching* We 
listened atten- 
tively for a 
minute, but no 
sound could be 
heard by us save 
that of the flut- 
tering of the 
wings of some 
bird among the 
branches above. 

" You heard 
nothing, Has- 
san," said Den- 
viers, "or else 
you mistook the 
rustling above 
for someone 
wandering in the 
forest glade." 
The Arab turned 
to my com- 
panion and then 
responded :• — 

" Hassan has 
long been ac- 
customed to dis- 
tinguish different 
sounds from a 
distance , the one which was heard a minute 
ago was caused by a human foot." He 
pointed to a tangled clump a little to the 
right of us, as he continued :— 

*' Listen, sahibs, for the sound of footsteps is 


surely drawing near. From yonder thicket the 
wanderer will doubtless emerge*" Presently 
a sound fell upon our ears, and a moment 
afterwards we heard the crackling of dead 
twigs as if someone was passing over them* 

"The feet of the one who is approaching 
us are uncovered/ 3 volunteered our guide, 
whose keen sense of hearing was vastly 
superior to our own, and its accuracy was 
again proved fully, for, pushing aside the 
undergrowth which hindered his path, there 
stepped out upon the level track before us a 
singularly well-formed being, whose whole 
appearance was that of a man in his primitive, 
savage state He was fully six feet in height, 
and wonderfully erect, his nut-brown skin 

forming a warm 
setting for the 
rich , dark eyes 
which so dis- 
tinguish Eastern 
races. His black 
hair clustered 
thickly above his 
forehead, on 
which we ob- 
served a circular 
spot, crimson in 
colour, and much 
resembling the 
potiu which Shiva 
women daily 
paint above their 
brows as a reli- 
gious emblem. 
As Hassan had 
already said, the 
man's feet were 
bare of covering, 
while the single 
garment which 
he wore was a 
brightly spotted 
panther skin, 
which passed 
over the left 
shoulder to the 
right side, and 
then hung down 
carelessly to the 
knees. In one 
hand he carried 
a stout bow, and 
the band which 
crossed his body over the right shoulder sup- 
ported a quiver which hung gracefully behind 
A savage, and in such a rude garb, the man 
seemed almost grand in his very simplicity. 
"A PhahP' exclaimed Hassan, quietly. 



" We have, indeed, met with good fortune." 
Again we heard the brushwood crackle, and 
a second man, resembling the first in appear- 
ance and dress, came forward, and together 
they held a conversation, interspersed largely 
with the gestures which play so prominent 
a part in the language of barbaric tribes. 

" What can they be searching for ? " 
Denviers asked Hassan, as the men seemed 
to be closely examining the trunks of several 
of the palm trees. 

"I cannot tell, sahib," responded the 
Arab. Then he continued with a warning 
movement : — 

" Hist ! there are others coming, and they 
are bearing loads with them." Through the 
brushwood we next saw several Dhahs 
advance, each carrying upon his head a huge 
bundle of some twining plant belonging to a 
species which we had not observed hitherto 
during our wanderings in Ceylon. From its 
appearance we likened it to a giant con- 
volvulus, for, while the pliant stem was as 
thick as a man's arm, there hung from it 
huge leaves and petals resembling that flower 
in shape. We moved cautiously into the 
undergrowth behind, thus getting a little 
farther away from the Dhahs, and, lying with 
our bodies stretched upon the ground at 
full length, we supported our heads upon 
our hands and narrowly watched the scene 
before us. 

Following the commands of the Dhah 
whom we had first seen, one of the others 
deftly threw upwards a long coil of the 
climbing plant, which, on reaching a part of 
the trunk of one of the palm trees some 
distance above his head, twined round the 
stem. The rope-like plant was then fastened 
to another palm tree some little distance in 
front of the first, and lower down. Continuing 
this process in all directions we saw them 
construct before our astonished eyes a 
wonderful tent, the leafy green roof and sides 
of which glowed with a massy setting of 
white and crimson flowers. The front almost 
faced us, so that the interior of the tent was 
disclosed to our view, and then this strange 
tribe next placed within the tent a number of 
rich skins of various animals killed in the 
chase, the whole effect being viewed with 
satisfaction by the Dhahs when at last their 
labour was finished. 

" What a curious tent ! " Denviers ex- 
claimed. " These Dhahs are indeed a strange 

Just as he spoke a messenger came to 
them through the brushwood, whereupon the 
men who had constructed the tent threw 

themselves down on either side of it. Within 
a few minutes we heard the sound of a 
number of footsteps approaching, and then a 
band of Dhahs stepped out from the brush- 
wood through which the first had come, and 
joined those resting by the tent. Following 
these, we next saw a number of others, who 
ranged themselves before the men in a 
standing posture, and as they did so we 
judged from their attire that they were 

Their raven hair was loosely twisted and 
threaded with pearls, while pendants of the 
latter hung from their ears. The garb which 
covered their forms was made of similar 
skins to those which the men wore, but more 
elaborately wrought, in addition to being 
gathered at the waist by a glittering belt made 
of the plumage of beautiful birds. Here and 
there a dark-eyed and lightly-clad child could 
be seen standing among the women. From 
time to time the glances of the Dhahs were 
turned in the direction whence they had 
entered the forest clearing, and the sound of 
their voices then ceased. They were evidently 
expecting someone, and we, remembering the 
strange rumour as to the nationality of their 
queen, began to watch the brushwood with 
considerable interest, being anxious to see 
her as soon as she emerged. That some 
event of unusual moment was about to take 
place upon her arrival we felt sure, from the 
disappointed looks which overspread the 
Dhahs* faces each time that their expectation 
of her coming was not realized. 

" What do you think is about to happen ? " 
I whispered to Denviers, as we kept quite 
still, fearing lest our presence should be 

"Something strange, no doubt," he re- 
sponded, "for I notice that the crimson mark 
which we saw upon the men's foreheads also 
adorns those of the women, and seems to have 
been recently placed there." Here Hassan 
interposed, in his usually clear, grave tone : — 

" It is very rarely, indeed, sahibs, that the 
Dhahs have been seen wandering on the 
borders of the forest, for they usually keep 
within the wild and pathless interior ; so, at 
least, your slave heard in Kandi." 

"Well," I added, " we certainly have much 
to be thankful for, since there is every chance 
of our remaining here unobserved, and wit- 
nessing whatever ceremony is about to take 
place. The sun has not long set, and yet 
the moon is up already. The network of 
branches above -is keeps out its light to some 
extent] ^p^lf,jy^fflh^f:;^ ! '|able to see clearlv 
what transpires." 


11 It will be unlucky for us if these Dhahs 
happen to discover our whereabouts," said 
Den vie rs, " for a shower of arrows shot from 
their stout bows towards us would make our 
present position anything but a pleasant one." 

11 They will not see us, sahib," continued 
Hassan, w unless we incautiously make some 
noise if anything unusual happens* They 
are not likely to cast many searching glances 
into the shadows which the trees cast, for 
they are apparently preoccupied, if we may 
judge from the excitement which they are 
evidently trying to suppress. We certainly 
must remain perfectly still when the queen 
appears, for thus only shall we see without 
being seen ourselves." 

11 That is easy enough to say, Hassan," I 
replied ; "but in such a moment as that 
which faces us, we may easily forget to be 

** Don 1 !: you think it would be a good plan 
if we were to separate a little from each 
other ? " asked Denviers. Our guide seemed 
strongly in favour of this plan, and while 
I remained in the position which had been 
occupied hitherto, Denviers moved a few yards 
to the right, and Hassan 

about the same distance to 

the left of me. The latter, 
however, found his new posi- 
tion would readily expose him 
to observation, and when he 
had communicated this fact 
to me by signs, I beckoned 
to him to return to my side, 
which he did. Denviers, how- 
ever, remained where he had 
gone ? and this circumstance, 
slight as it was, led a little later 
on to a most unexpected re- 
sult The silence which just 
before we had observed among 
the Dhahs occurred again, and 
watching narrowly the brush- 
wood we saw emerge from 
it the one whom they were 
eagerly expecting. As our 
eyes rested upon this last 
comer we were indeed 
startled, for 
before us was 
the Queen of 
the Dhahs, 
and we recog- 
nised in that 
moment that 
the rumour 
was true ! 

"She comes I Margarita ! " burst from the 
lips of every assembled Dhah, as the queen 
slowly advanced and passed between her 
subjects, who lined the path leading to the 
tent. As she moved amid them they bent 
low, while here and there a warrior Dhah 
pressed with his lips her trailing garment as 
she passed, Reaching the ftent the queen 
turned and faced the excited throng of 
subjects grouped round it, and then we saw 
more distinctly her features and the attire 
which she wore. 

The age of the queen was apparently less 
than twenty, her clear, fair skin forcibly con- 
trasting with the dark complexion of her 
subjects, whom she alone resembled in the 
colour of the soft, full eyes with which she 
glanced upon them* A look almost of 
sadness overshadowed her face, which all the 
adulation which she received from her 
subjects could not entirely banish. Her 
form, which was above the medium height, 
was clad in a flowing robe of a wonderfully 
soft and silky - looking material, woven 
possibly, we thought, from the inner bark 
of some tree. Its loose 
folds were bare of orna- 
ment, save that the queen 
wore a girdle over it 
thickly interwoven with 
pearls as white as those 
of Manaar, of which a 
profuse number also 
braided her light flowing 
hair, meshes of which 
partly concealed her fore- 
head. When the queen 
stood in silence before 
her subjects, after the 
greeting which they had 
given her subsided, there 




issued from among the Dhahs that one whom 
first we saw in the forest. Prostrating himself 
before her he afterwards rose, and, having 
bent low his head, began ; — 

" Margarita, white queen of the dusky race 
whose habitation is the pathless forest* hail ! 
Here, upon the border which limits thy 
domains, we pledge anew to thee the promise 
of fealty, of which the crimson star upon our 
foreheads is the token By it we swear to 
thee that thy foes shall be our foes, and that 
over us, thy slaves, shalt thou have the power 
of life and death," Then, turning to the 
Dhahs, who throughout this speech had 
maintained a death -like silence, he asked :— 

11 Swear ye this by 
the crimson star of 
blood which is placed 
upon your brows ? ,T 

The last word had 
scarcely left his lips 
when the subject 
Dhahs rose and, 
placing upon their 
foreheads their left 
hands, held aloft the 
right above their 
heads as they 
cried : — 

"By the crimson 
tide, which rules the 
life of man, we 
swear 1 " 

We watched the 
strange scene intently 
as each of the Dhahs, 
in turn, came forward 
and fell prostrate be- 
fore the queen, then 
gave place to those 
who followed. The 
Dhah who had ad- 
ministered the oath 

remained near the 1thidhah 

queen until the cere- 
mony was concluded, and seemed to number 
the subjects as they came forward. Then he 
fell before her and, for a second time, kissed 
the hem of her robe. Smiling gravely upon 
him, the queen extended to him her hand* 
Pressing his lips fervently upon it he rose, 
then, turning to those around, he ex- 
claimed : — 

** All have not sworn fealty. One among us 
has not taken the oath, and at sundown he 
did not bear upon his forehead the sacred 
mark!" There was an ominous frown 
apparent upon the brows of the Dhahs as 
these words were uttered, and when he added : 

"Ye know the penalty which such trans- 
gression deserves ; how then judge ye ? " 
each man's hand gripped his bow in a 
threatening manner, while even the faces of 
the women grew terribly stern. By one of 
those assembled was uttered a cry which 
leapt from lip to lip,, for it was immediately 
caught up by all : — 

" Death to the false one ! Death when 
the day shall dawn ! " A gleam of satis- 
faction, one almost of savage joy, passed 
over the face of the Dhah who stood beside 
the queen as he added :— 

" The sentence upon the traitor is a just 
one ; do thou then confirm it ! " He turned 

as if about to seek 
himself for the one 
who was the cause 
of the tumult, when 
the momentary 
silence was strangely 
broken. Upon our 
ears was borne the 
sharp whizz of an 
arrow shot true from 
a tightly-strung bow \ 
then the Dhah who 
had just finished 
speaking, with a wild 
cry that pierced the 
forest, threw his arms 
up as if grasping the 
empty air, and fell 
dead at the queen's 
feet ! 

"Look yonder^ 
sahib l n whispered 
Hassan, who was still 
beside me, " there is 
the one who sent 
forth the deadly 
shaft!" I turned my 
gaze hastily in the 
*eu,i*aix- direction which the 

Arab indicated, and 
saw Denviers struggling with a fierce Dhah 
from whose hands he was trying to wTest 
a bow, and who had hidden in the brush- 
wood near him without being observed 
hitherto ! They were seen in a moment by 
the assembled Dhahs, and, with a wild rush, 
the latter poured down upon the combatants, 
seizing them as they still grasped the bow. 

"Hassan/ 1 I cried to our guide, "come 
on, we must get Denviers out of the hands of 
this horde somehow ! tf We dashed across 
the intervening ipacj, and made a brief but 
desperate attempt 1.0 release our companion. 
It was as useless as it was rash, for we were 


directly afterwards dragged, in spite of our 
struggles — as well as Denviers and his oppo- 
nent — into the open glade, close to the dead 
body of the man lying there. 

" We are betrayed ! " cried one of the 
Dhahs. "The white spies have been led 
hither by the traitor among us that they may 
learn our strength, and then return with a 
force to destroy us ! One of our number has 
already fallen ; shall we not slay the captives 
over his dead body ? " A fierce cry of assent 
rose from the others, as they fitted each a 
shaft to their bows and took deliberate aim 
at us as we were held fast by our captors. I 
saw the face of the queen grow pale as she 
rested her eyes, first upon the fallen Dhah 
and then upon us. Had men of her own 
race come that they might destroy the tribe 
which obeyed her slightest word ? She 
made an imperative gesture, which caused 
the Dhahs to hold their arrows undischarged, 
though they still kept their bows bent, 
waiting eagerly for her to utter the word of 
command to slay us. 

" Stop ! " she cried, in a commanding tone. 
" Upon your foreheads ye wear still the 
pledge of obedience to me, with whom rests 
alone the power of life and death. Ye shall 
have justice to the full : I will hear what they 
can say in their defence, but if wantonly 
they have caused life to be taken, white 
though they be, I swear unto ye that they 
shall surely die." The Dhahs shifted their 
arrows from the bowstrings and seemed 
reluctant to give us even this short respite. 
I looked into the queen's face and read 
there that her threat against us was no idle 
one. She commanded the women and most 
of the men to retire — leaving us still held 
fast by our captors. 

11 We are not cowards," said Denviers, 
calmly, to her. "Hear what we have to say, 
and then decide our fate. Bid these savages 
release us from their grasp — we shall make no 
attempt to escape, I pledge my word." The 
queen glanced coldly at him as she responded : 

" Be it as ye say." Then, turning to the 
Dhahs, she continued : " Take them within 
the tent, and then retire. Remain within an 
arrow shot from here, and if ye see one of 
the prisoners attempt to escape, slay him and 
spare not." We were conducted into the 
queen's tent, and there released. As the 
Dhahs withdrew Denviers turned to Hassan, 
and said : — 

" Bid this savage who shot the arrow ex- 
plain that we know nothing of him." The 
queen looked sharply at us, and then pointing 
to Hassan, asked : — 

" Who is this whom ye have brought into 
the forest ? " 

I answered for us, saying : " He is our 
guide, with whom we have been wandering 
for some time. Why do you mistrust us, 
since you have ample proof that the fallen 
Dhah was shot by your own subject there ? " 
and I pointed to the man, who, for a moment, 
had thrown himself down in the tent. 

" Speak ! " she commanded him. " Why 
did you shoot forth the winged messenger of 

To our surprise the man rose and con- 
fronted her boldly, as he answered : — 

"Am I not a warrior? Can I not bend 
the bow and endure hardships better than 
anyone among the tribe over which thou 
rulest ? Was not I prince of these Dhahs 
until the day when thou tookest possession of 
my right? Thou hast despised me and 
looked kindly upon another, wherefore 
have I sworn to refuse to take the pledge of 
fealty to thee when the time came round, 
and to stretch him dead at thy feet. Deliver 
me into the hands of the tribe if thou wilt, 
but thou art powerless to bring back life to 
thy favourite ! " He stopped and drew 
himself up defiantly before her. The eyes of 
the imperious queen shone brightly with the 
fierce resentment which the Dhah's words 
roused in her. 

" Darest thou then to confront thy queen 
so ? " she asked, scornfully. " May not I 
choose whom I will upon whom to bestow 
my favours ? Coward that thou art to shoot 
the shaft secretly, because thou darest not 
face thine enemy as a brave Dhah ever does ! 
Thy crime has nearly cost these other 
prisoners dear ; and I, ruling as I do this 
tribe without the exterminating feuds which 
distinguished it under thy misgovernment, 
doom thee to death. At sundown to-morrow 
shalt thou die; till then thou shalt live, 
scorned by the race upon which thou hast 
brought this stain." She moved to the 
front of the tent, and then we saw the Dhah 
dragged away by those whom the queen 
quickly summoned. 

We were bidden to rest ourselves upon the 
piles of soft, rich skins which were spread 
there, and having promised to secure our 
safety, the queen, whose anger gradually 
subsided, observing the inquiring glances 
which we turned towards her, said, in a low 
tone : — 

"The deed which ye have seen enacted 
to-night has smitten me sorely. For ten 
years have I lived among these Dhahs, for 
to-day is the anniversary of that upon which I 


' —j~- 


came to them, and so it is that ye chance 
to see their promise to obey me renewed 
To-morrow it is expected that I, too, will take 
in turn the oath, by which yearly I have 
sworn to them to remain in this forest until 
the Reasons change and change again* At 
midnight tonight my last promise expires, 
and for a few brief hours I shall not be their 
bond queen. By your glances I judge that 
ye would learn my history. Strange as it is, 
I must narrate it briefly, for, because of the 
death which ye have witnessed, I now have 
a request to make which may sound unusual 
upon your ears," 


The dark eyes of the queen glanced at us 
as .she began her story, the sequel Vj which 
we did not at all anticipate: — 

" I was a mere child when it chanced that 
I strayed from the hut which my English 
parents inhabited on the borders of this forest. 
Of them I know nothing. I remember 
the cry of surprise which came from the 
lips of a Dhah woman when she found me, 
and then carried me among her tribes wo men 
to show to them. It is forbidden among us 
for a Dhah to ever pass beyond the limits of 
this forest, and so it transpired that, know- 
ing nothing of other races, they were 
astonished at my strange whiteness, I have 

heard that at first they con- 
templated my death, thinking 
that my presence would bring 
dire misfortune upon them. 
The woman who found me 
averred, on the contrary, that 
my appearance betokened 
great advantages to the tribe, 
as I was sent to dwell in the 
forest as a goddess. After- 
wards, believing this, they 
paid me the most abject 
worship for years. When I 
grew older I longed to escape, 
but they were determined 
that I should not do SO, and 
compelled me to take an oath 
to stay with them for a year, 
which I have renewed as 
often as the promise expired 
Finding that I disliked the 
r.doration which they paid to 
me, they deposed their prince 
—he whose hand shot the 
fatal arrow, as, alas ! ye saw 
— and although for a time I 
refused to accept the position, 
I was eventually made their 
queen — even as I am now, 
" Many times I desired to leave them, but 
of kite that wish has grown feeble, for he, 
whom ye know now lies lifeless before the 
tent, bent his dark eyes, and looked into 
mine, which returned his glances. One day 
I thought to raise him even as a prince to my 
side, for all the tribe trusted in him as much 
as they disliked the one deposed. Now that 
he is slain, the wish to depart has again 
re -entered my breast, and ye, who are of the 
same kindred as I, surely ye will aid me? 
How came ye hither, on foot or otherwise ? * 
"We left our horses on the edge of the 
forest," said Denviers, "but we did not ex- 
pect to be so long absent from them. How 
wilt thou depart from these Dhahs ? Surely 
they will avenge themselves upon us, for 
they will assuredly think that we have 
influenced you to desert them* J ' The queen 
paused for a minute, then answered : — 

" I could not bear to leave them openly, for 
I have grown to be almost one of themselves, 
and they are dear indeed to me, I will ac- 
company ye to where your horses are tethered ; 
and waiting there for me I will come to ye 
again upon the steed which has never known 

The pQngimrfl f escape seemed simple 
enoughyj&ttltUte slightest mishap might bri r 

us into conflict with the whole tribe of 

Vol. v+ — * 



Dhahs, who would doubtless be infuriated if 
they thought that their queen was lost to 
them through us, as Denviers had suggested. 
It seemed to us a strange termination to our 
adventure, but in obedience to a gesture from 
the queen we rose, and, accompanied by her, 
passed the guards in safety. As she emerged 
from the tent, the queen bade us wait for her 
for a minute, and stopping, we saw the woman 
bend down sadly over the silent form lying 
there under the trees, which half shut out the 

now carried the weapon of the tribe over 
which she had so long ruled — a bow — and 
that across her fair shoulders was slung a 
quiver of arrows, when a sudden cry rose 
from the forest, and at the same moment 
Hassan exclaimed : — 

11 Quick, sahibs ! The Dhahs are upon us ! " 

We leapt upon our horses and dashed 

away from the forest just as a heavy shower 

of arrows narrowly missed us, Hassan went 

on in front, while Denviers and I galloped on 


midnight sky. Her hand touched the arrow 
and gently drew it forth — tipped with 
blood ! Then placing it within the upper folds 
of her dress sht: passed silently on through 
the clearing, and so accompanied us to the 
spot where our horses were, whence she 

* c I am afraid that this affair may yet turn 
out badly for us, J7 I remarked to Denviers, 
as we untethered our steeds and waited for 
the queen's return. " Where shall we make 
for when we start?" 

" For the hut of the Cingalese, which we 
left some time ago," he responded. * £ It will 
afford her some shelter, and we can keep 
watch outside," 

He had scarcely finished speaking when 
we saw the queen riding towards us upon a 
snow-white steed. As the moonlight touched 
her spotless robe and her floating hair, with 
the pearls which adorned it, she seemed to 
us to be more like some vision than a living 
reality. I had just time to notice that she 

either side of the queen. Glancing back at 
the Dhahs I observed that they were massed 
already upon the margin of the forest, the 
flight of their queen having become rapidly 
known. The women raised a mournful and 
appealing cry of entreaty to her to go 
back to them, and, glancing at the queen, 
I saw that her face was wet with tears. We 
heard the hoarse shouts of the warrior Dhahs 
when they found that their arrows fell short, 
but they did not dare to pass the limits of 
the forest beyond which their strange law for- 
bade them to go. We rode on for some hours 
at a rapid rate, then, on n earing the hut of 
the Cingalese, Denviers leapt down and 
succeeded in awaking its sole occupant, who 
was induced to vacate it The queen dis- 
mounted and entered the hut wearied* as we 
thought, with the long ride, for the dawn had 
come before we finished our journey, Hassan 
secured the horses, and. soon after we were 
all lyingw&lllttlc distance from the hut fast 
asleep in the shade of some giant ferns. 



The morning was far advanced when we 
awoke, but hour after hour passed and the 
door of the hut remained closed. Becoming 
uneasy, at last I ventured to open it The 
queen had disappeared ! 

" Denviers ! " I shouted. " Come here a 
minute ! " My companion hastened towards 
the hut, and was considerably surprised to 
find it empty. Glancing round it we saw 
against one of its thin palm leaf sides an 
arrow projecting. Going close to it we found 
roughly scratched beneath it a message to us, 
which said simply : — 

" The Queen of the Dhahs could not rest 
away from her people and the forest where lies 
her dead lover I " We stared at the writing 
incredulously for a minute or two, then a 
sudden thought occurred to me : — 

" Hassan ! " I shouted, " see to the 
horses." The Arab went slowly to the spot 
where he had secured them, but hastily 
returned saying, in an animated tone, 
somewhat unusual for him unless when 
excited : — 

"Sahibs, the white steed is no longer 
there ! " and he looked gravely at us as he 

44 Well," said Denviers, as Hassan finished 
speaking, " this has been a strange adventure 
from beginning to end. How could such a 
woman care to spend her existence with 
those Dhahs ? It seemed curious to me at 
the first, but after seeing her and observing 

the contrast between her and her subjects, I 
am still more surprised." 

" The Dhahs are known throughout Cey- 
lon," interposed Hassan, "for the honour 
which they pay to their queen, and that may 
influence her to remain with them ; besides, 
they are a handsome race, very different to 
such as this man," and he pointed to the 
Cingalese, who was again vacantly staring at 
his plantation of palm trees. 

"What do you think will become of the man 
who shot the Dhah, sahib ? " asked Hassan, 
as he turned to Denviers. My companion 
was silent for a moment, then responded : — 

"I really cannot say. He is doomed to 
die at sundown to-day, but I daresay some- 
one will intercede for him with the queen." 
Then, holding out towards the Arab the 
arrow which we had found within the hut, 
ho. continued : — 

" Take care of that, Hassan, for if we are 
able I should like to keep it as a memento of 
this event." The Arab examined it closely 
to see what constituted its value, and Den- 
viers, thinking that it might disappear like 
sundry other lost treasures of ours, added : 
" It is a poisoned arrow, and if put in that 
sash of yours might prove very dangerous." 
Hassan understood the hint, as subsequent 
events proved, and, calling upon Mahomet as 
a witness to his integrity under such trying 
circumstances, carried it cautiously away and 
placed it among our baggage. 

by Google 


ST. ^ 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


From (i Phi.tU). bv\ 


[Elliott t f Fry. 

T was a long, cold journey to 
Ripon. When I reached the 
Palace the time of five o'clock 
tea had long since passed— it 
only wanted half an hour to the 
first dinner bell But a cup of 
deliciously warming tea was ready for me. 
This kindly tboughtfulness seemed to break 
down every barrier calculated to make one 
feel anything but perfectly "at home." 
Then, when the Bishop returned from 
a long day's work, the impressions gathered 
over the refreshing cup with his wife became 
a reality. It may at once be said that there 
is very little difference between him who 
preaches from the pulpit and him who sits 
down and talks with you in his own house. 

The Bishop of Ripon is acknowledged to 
be one of the most eloquent preachers of 
the day. He is as gentle in his manner as 
he is convincing in his utterances. He is 

utterly free from anything suggestive of an 
over-estimated " L" He seems always to 
speak from his heart, and continually with the 
single thought of nt^ver giving a hurtful word. 
In truth, he is as impressive in the home as 
in the cathedral. Yet, when he is at home, 
there are his children, young and old. He is 
heart and soul with them in their play, 
Little Beatrice — whose pet name is Daisy — ■ 
and five-year-old Douglas — familiarly known 
as Chappie — already know that there are 
merry games to be enjoyed in which their 
father watches over both. 

We spent the evening after dinner ingoing 
through the house. The Palace, Ripon 3 is a 
semi-modern building, having been built some 
fifty years ago. The first stone was laid on 
Monday, ist October, 183S, by Bishop 
Longley, and Its correct entire cost was 
^i^BDWj'.WNrJlflSIWns are large and 
handsome. The entrance-hall abounds in 



F*vm<t Photo 


flowers and ferns, and contains at least 
two valuable canvases. One is a life- 
size picture by Grant of Archbishop 
Long ley — the first Bishop — the other, by 
Watts, is that of Bishop Bickersteth, the 
second Bishop. Both of these are heir- 
looms of the See of Ripon, Just beyond is 
a second hall, where is the great oak staircase 
leading to the rooms above. This corner is 
rich in etchings and engravings. Paul 
Sandby, R,A., is well represented with his 

"Windsor* 3 ; works 

by Aumonier, Fred 
Slocombe, Charles 
Murray, David 
Law, Joseph 
Knight, Meisso- 
nier, and a striking 
etching of Napo- 
leon, by Ruet, are 
noticeable. There 
are many quaint 
old views of 
" Ripon Minster/' 
a Soudanese sword 
which one of the 
Bishop*s sons 
brought from 
Egypt, whilst on a 
table is a very 
clever model of the 
Bishop's father's 
church at Liver- 
pool, It was made 
by an invalid lady, 

and her ingenious 
fingers have han- 
dled the cardboard 
and gum most 

Immediately op- 
posite to the hall 
is the Holden 
Library. A pic- 
ture of the Rev. J 
Holden, who not 
only founded it, 
but left a small en^ 
dowment to keep 
it in good order, 
hangs over the 
fireplace. Here 
the clergy of the 
diocese may come 
and consult the 
volumes. It is a 
fine room, and its 
outlook upon the 
rising ground of 
the garden is pleasantness itself. 

We were just leaving the library when a 
soft pit-pat, pit-pat at our heels caused me 
to turn. The quiet, disturbing footfalls were 
made by a beautiful blue Angora cat, which 
was accompanied by George, the pug, who 
had made his presence known at the dinner 
table. Both Sultan, the cat, and George 
proved to be the most interesting of animals 
imaginable. Sultan's kittens are sold for 
charitable purposes and a little litter realized 

lEUioit rf Fry. 


[Elliott <* Pry 



Frtnn* Phut*. Iwl 


^10 for the Wakefield Bishopric Fund, 
George used to worry the sheep — he was the 
death of seven. He saw a St, Bernard causing 
trouble amongst the universal providers of 
lamb and mutton, and he could not resist 
the temptation to imitate his bigger brother. 
But he has long since been forgiven, 

" Sultan and George," said the Bishop, 
11 were the greatest of rivals when they first 
came here — now they are the best of friends. 
One bitter cold night George set up a terrible 
barking- I left my room , went downstairs — 
nothing apparently the matter. But George 
would not let me go. He barked and ran 
to the door. Then I heard a low, piteous 
cry. I opened the door, and in walked 
Sultan from the snow-covered step, perished 
with cold ! n 

I gave George a pat on the head — I fancy 
he knew what we had been talking about. 
Away he cantered with Sultan, and we went 
into the drawing-room. 
There are two such apart- 
ments at the Palace, each 
leading into the other. Both 
look out upon the grounds, 
the trees in which now bear 
the golden-tinted reminders 
of autumn upon their 
branches, and the grass is 
plentifully strewn with the 
chestnuts blown down by 
the wind. The smaller of 
the two rooms abounds with 
dainty water-colours —light, 
bright and tiny paintings of 
sea-side views and flowers 



numberless por- 
traits, and photo- 
graphic reminis- 
cences of travel. 
The curiosity, how- 
ever, of this apart- 
ment is a replica 
of the bust of 
Dante at Naples. 
The Bishop of 
Ripon is a very 
earnest and enthu- 
siastic student of 
the great philo- 
sophical poet. 
Pictures of Dante, 
indeed, abound 
throughout the 
house, and in the 
study — to be 
visited later — are 
to be found many 
rare and valuable editions of him who con- 
ceived the never-to-be-excelled "Inferno, 1 * 
including Lord Vernon's, the Landino editions 
of 148 1, and the Nidobeato of 1478. 

The large drawing-room affords a distant 
and picturesque view of the great square 
tower of the cathedral. The Palace is really 
on a level with it, so great is the rise in the 
ground. This apartment, like all the rooms 
indeed, is richly perfumed by flowers; exqui- 
site china and silver nick-nacks are every- 
where, and the Bishop evidently does not 
believe in the untold troubles associated with 
the presence of peacocks' feathers. There are 
several fans made from the "unlucky" stalks. 
One table seems given up to the congre- 
gating of tiny china animals — the most 
diminutive of pigs* kangaroos, rabbits, dogs, 
and ducks. The pictures are mostly marine 
subjects : two fine dockyard scenes are 
by Charles Dixon. Dixon — whose father, 

Original from 

From a Phato. by) 





it will be remembered, painted "The Pride of 
Battery B" — was only sixteen when he painted 
them, A grand skin from a St, Bernard has its 
story to telL The Bishop had two such dogs. 
His lordship changed his coachman and 
groom. Together with his family the Bishop 
left the Palace for a time, and the dog pined 
away, His skin now lies by the window, 
Alas ! his more callous wife is still alive in the 
stable. Two of its offspring are in the safe 
keeping of a well-known clergyman, who, 
being in doubt as to what name he should 
bestow upon his newly-purchased pups, out 
of gratitude for the invigorating influence of 
the Harrogate waters determined to call them 
Sulphur and Magnesia ! 

The dining-room need be of goodly size — 
frequently some 
thirty or forty 
people sit down at 
its tables. There 
are many fine oil- 
paintings here. 
Two bear the 
initials "A. S." 
"A, S." was Arthur 
Stocks- When the 
Bishop of Ripon 
was vicar of St. 
James's, Hollo- 
way, Arthur Stocks 
was a superinten- 
dent in the Sunday 
school He used 
to travel back- 
wards and for- 
wards twice every 
Sabbath to the 
school j and when 
he died he left a 
wish that his quon- 
dam vicar should 
have one of his works. It has the best place 
in the room, though there are several valuable 
works of the Titian School, and a striking 
canvas, believed to be a Mazzoni, which was 
picked up in a general shop in a western 

A long corridor runs level with the dining- 
room outside. Its walls are lined with pic- 
tures and photographs, all reviving pleasant 
memories* A dual picture of Mr, and 
Mrs. H. M, Stanley is autographed by nearly 
all who signed the register on the occasion 
of their marriage --such names as W. E. 
Gladstone, Sir Frederick Leighton, and the 
Baroness Burdett-Coutts. It was the Bishop 
of Ripon who officiated at the ceremony- — 
probably the first and only Bishop who has 

From a Fkoto. 6yj 

conducted a wedding service the whole of 
which was " received " into phonographs 
placed in the Abbey. There are excellent 
portraits of Gerald Wellesley, Dean of 
Windsor; whilst Archbishop Longley — who 
surely occupied more ecclesiastical Sees than 
any previous prelate — has signed himself as 
Rjpon, Durham, York, and Canterbury to a 
striking portrait of himself, Henry Irving is 
not forgotten ; but perhaps the most striking 
sketch is that of General Gordon — just by the 
side of a map of Khartoum. The inscription 
reads : *' General C. E, Gordon > from an hour } s 
sketch I made of him on 21st December, 
1882.— fid Clifford" Mr. Clifford was 
the only English artist the Hero of 
Khartoum ever sat to. Above the frame 


I Elliott *l Fr* 

is a facsimile of his last message : H I am 
quite happy, thank God; and, like Lawrence, 
I have tried to do my duty." 

A photographic group of his lordship's 
working men's committee hangs near — their 
willing and kindly work is much valued. 
The Bishop is a purely practical prelate. 
This working men's committee has been 
formed with the aid of the clergy in Leeds* 
Leeds has some fifty parishes, and five 
working men are chosen out of each — giving 
a body of 250 strong. They help chiefly at 
special services such as those held on Good 
Fridays, Original f ran 

As ^fira^ffl^Wf^P^Sfrf P ecuIiar advan- 
tages of soliciting "the services of the workir 
man to meet his brother workman, the dist 



Prwn a Photo. b\t\ 


lEUioU tt Fry. 

sound of the chapel organ was heard* Its echo 
came very sweetly through the corridor, It 
was the time of evening service* The dim 
glow from the lamps lent an air of solemnity 
to the little chapel^ and when the service was 
over we remained behind for a few moments. 
I couid just distinguish the altar steps of 
white, black and red the Dante combina- 
tion of colours — and the peaceful light from 
the moon streamed through the stained glass 
windows on to the oaken stalls, showing 
faintly the outlines of apostles and saints. 
One of these was put up in 1852, in remem- 
brance of the Rev, Charles Dodgson, examin- 
ing chaplain to Bishop Ixmgley and the faUier 
of the author of (t Alice in Wonderland." It 
was here in the morning that I witnessed the 
gathering together of twenty or thirty clerics, 
who were licensed to new curacies and 
livings* We left the chapel* and ascending 
the great oaken staircase entered the study. 
This is essentially a room for work. The book- 
shelves contain some thousands of volumes — ■ 
the only photo about the place is that of a 
family group. In one corner of the room 
stands a tin box, in which are three volumes 
of autographs, and the pages of these valuable 
volumes may be gone through, and the auto- 
graphs of nearly all the Archbishops and 
Bishops of England for the last 200 years may 
be seen, including Juxon, Bishop of London, 
who attended Charles L on the scaffold. A 
book containing photographs of the churches 
in the diocese reveals that Bishop Longley — 
*he first Bishop of Ripon — was of a dis- 

tinctly practical 
character. He 
started this in- 
genious index to 
the state of his 
churches. As soon 
as any alteration 
is made in a place 
of worship it is 
This shows the 
Bishop at a glance 
exactly how his 
churches are pro- 
gressing from an 
architectural point 
of view. 

The Bishop sat 
down, and it was 
whilst listening to 
much of the deep- 
est interest regard- 
ing his work that I 
noticed the Prelate 
more closely* He is a trifle below the 
medium height, slightly whiskered, with iron- 
grey hair curled all about his head and brow. 
His face is intensely kind> and his every 
word and action suggestive of true and un- 
affected humility. Indeed, it is this very 
humility that has prevented his work be- 
coming wider known. He is remarkably 
simple in his dress. Bishops, we know, have 
opportunity of seeing the sad, and indeed 
the seamy side of clerical life. If a man 
is a Bishop, he can still remain a brother. 
The putting on of the lawn lessens not 
his love for, and interest in, the young 
curate who only wears the linen surplice. He 
lives a quiet, homely, simple life, though 
always hospitable to others. How could he do 
otherwise, when he hears of cases like that of 
the poor cleric with a uife and eight children, 
who, after preaching his Sunday sermon, 
returns home to a meal of oatmeal gruel, 
and that meal would have been wanting had 
not a kindly farmer given it to his shepherd ? 
The Bishop of Ripon has a diocese extend- 
ing over a million acres and numbering a 
million people. Between seventy and a 
hundred changes take place every year. 
He travels much. He estimates he covers 
between 10,000 and 12,000 miles every year. 
We spoke about preaching. On this 
subject the Bishop believes that each man 
must use the method best suited to himself. 
There have been effective preachers both of 

writtenj NPWfl A . BflWWITY sermons * The 
question of memory came up, and the Bishop 



said : " I learnt something of this from the 
biography of Chancellor Bird, of Lincoln, 
who said, 'The memory is very sensitive of 
distrust ; if you trust it, it seldom fails you/ 
I have tested this more than once. On 
one occasion I was preaching at St Paul's, 
When I got into the pulpit I thought I could 
not remember the number of the verse of my 
text I knew the chapter, and opened my 
Bible there, but could not see it. People 
began to move about, but I hazarded a 
guess* and fortunately it was right" 

I learnt yet another example of this 
whilst in Ripon, though not from the Bishop, 
He was preaching at Bradford one Sunday 
morning two years ago. One of his many 

ing for the University extension movement 
We said "Good-night" 

When I reached my room I sat down by 
the fire and remembered that the Bishop was 
fond of his joke. He has a name — William 
Boyd Carpenter — the latter of which is 
capable of a very merry conversion. The 
story is told how, before being appointed to 
the See of Ripon ? he once married a young 
couple with the assurance that he was not 
only a Carpenter but a Joiner, Only a few 
months ago he was about to lay the founda- 
tion stone of a new vicarage. The architect 
handed him the trowel, etc, inviting him to 
become "an operative mason for a few 

From a Photo. b?l 


\ElluiUfl /1*. 

dramatic movements knocked his book from 
the pulpit cushion. It was just in the middle 
of the sermon. He never so much as 
glanced at the fallen volume, and my infor- 
mant said he had never heard the Bishop 
more eloquent. 

u You ask me if I advocate the preaching 
of other men's sermons/ 1 said his lordship, 
repeating my question* "There is one 
thing about it It behoves every man to 
advocate the simplest honesty. If any cleric 
exchange his sermon with another, let him 
say from the pulpit, t Fm going to give you 
Soand-so's sermon to-day/ " 

We talked on, being joined by Mr. Harry 
Carpenter — the Bishop's eldest son — who 
frankly declared himself to be a happy, 
recently-called barrister, and just now lectur- 

" I would rather remain a working 
Carpenter," was the witty reply. 

I stirred my fire, and amongst the flicker- 
ing embers I could almost see the faces of a 
happy pair at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. 
The Bishop was officiating. The charming 
though nervous bride experienced some 
difficulty in taking off her glove at the right 
moment to receive the wedding ring, 

And a very soft whisper of kindly assur- 
ance came from the clergyman's lips. 

" Don't be flurried/' he said^ sotto voce; 

n there's plenty of time, and they are bound 

to wait for us ! n 

in the morning I looked 

It was very early, and the 

up the tower of Ripon 

above the tree tops. 
v i. v.-j, 

When I awoke 
from my window, 
sun was lighting 
Cathedrar as'^u -rftlsfef 



frwm d f'hiUt. .'■■/ j 


[Elliott «t fry. 

It was a fair scene. You could count a 
dozen rabbits hopping about on the grassy 
lawn leading down to the tennis court, 
and sitting nervously for a few moments, 
and glancing anxiously this way, that way, 
and every way in expectancy of a disturbing 
footstep. And as I looked out upon the beau- 
tiful scene of autumn-tinted trees and grassy 
mounds, with just a last rose of summer here 
and there, I could almost distinguish those little 
Arabs from the by-streets and slums of Ix:eds. 
They were running about in tatters, shouting 
themselves hoarse with delight, and turning 
unlimited Catharine- wheels in their happy 
delirium, I could hear them distinctly clap- 
ping their hands ; I could not hear the patter 
of their feet, though — the poor little fellows 
were bootless. Then they ceased their play 
for a moment, Somebody was beckoning to 
them to follow him, He quietly led them 
beneath the branches of the very biggest tree 
in the garden. He pointed his finger up- 
wards. It was a very short sermon — a 
sermon from a text set up by Nature which 
the tiniest mite amongst this tattered congre- 
gation could understand. 

" Little children," he said, " I want you to 
grow up like this tree — with nothing between 
you and Heaven, nothing save the branches 
which you must shoot out— branches of help 
to others." 

And tlje children went to play again. 

Then I spied from my window a fine 
piece of level ground. The railway men 

were playing cric- 
ket there. How 
they seemed to en- 
joy the huge plum- 
puddings after 
throwing down 
their bats and 
leaving the wic- 
kets ! The tooth- 
some puddings 
had been contri- 
buted by the 
ladies of the city, 
and made hot and 
steaming in the 
great copper of the 
Palace kitchen. 

After break Fast, 
the Bishop and I 
went for a long 
walk around the 
grounds — there 
are sixty or seventy 
acres of land here, 
and a small home 
farm. The Palace — which I now saw 
properly for the first time — is built of 
stone, the monotony of which is relieved by 
many a climbing nasturtium and cluster of 
ivy leaves* The chapel stands at right 
angles to the house. It was added later, and 
is the gift of the late Archbishop Vernon 
Harcourt to the See of Ripon. 

There is rather a curious thing about 
some of the decorative work on the exterior 
of the Palace. An episcopal diary started 
by Bishop' Longley, and preserved at the 
Palace, mentions that amongst many carved 
"heads ,J on the chapel was that of a Bishop* 
A strong gust of wind blew it down; all 
the others, which were decidedly unclerical, 
remained ! But the most amusing entry 
in this book refers to two figures of angels at 
the south-east and south-west corners. See- 
ing that the Queen and Prince Consort had 
only been married a few months when the 
Palace was built, instructions were given to 
imitate in the carving of the angels the 
features of Her Majesty and her Consort* 
But the stone-mason, being possessed of a 
certain prosaic mind, was not content with 
the attempt to give the features of the 
Prince, but represented him as an angel 
arrayed in a field-marshal's uniform and 
wearing the ribbon of the Garter ! Of 
course it was altered at once. 

We had walked on and stood still for a 
moment at the end of a long avenue 



" Now you can see Norton Conyers ! 
It is about four miles from here," said 
the Bishop, " Charlotte Bronte once had a 
holiday engagement as governess there, and 
a room is still shown where it is said the 
mad woman was confined whose story the 
gifted authoress told in the pages of *Jane 

Then as we wended our way across to the 
farm, down paths lined with hedgerows, and 
through many wicket gates^ we paused at 
times as the Bishop looked back upon his 
quiet though useful life. 

The Right Rev. William Boyd Carpenter 
was born at Liverpool on March 26th, 1841. 
His father was vicar 
of St. Michael's there 
for twenty- seven 
years* His first school- 
ing was obtained 
under Dr, Dawson 
Turner, at the Royal 
Institution School, 
and amongst famous 
boys of the Royal In- 
stitution were Bishop 
I.ightfoot, Canon 
Duckworth, Professor 
Warr,and Mr. Crosse. 

u Dr Dawson Tur- 
ner," said the Bishop, 
" was a sort of cosmo- 
politan — he tried to 
teach a little of every- 
thing. He was a 
good - hearted man. 
He loved to give 
threepenny-pieces to 
the boys who pleased 
him, I well remem- 
ber one day during 

FrayetS We Were all *™ a Drawing bjf\ general 

assembled in the big 

hall— and the head master was reading them. 
Suddenly the door opened and a big boy, very 
nervous and conscience-stricken, who thought 
he ought to be at prayers, crept quietly 
in. Dr. Turner looked up and said, in 
the same tone as he was reading, * Go out — 
go out ! Somebody put that idiot out ! J 
Then he went on with his reading exactly 
in the same voice. 

" The man I learned most from was Albert 
Glyn, our mathematical master — one of the 
best teachers that ever breathed. He would 
never let you pass a thing unless you 
thoroughly understood it It was he who 
made mathematics an interesting and fascin- 
ating study to me," 

We spoke of the time when the Crimean 
w T ar broke out, when the Bishop was full of 
the boyish ardour of thirteen years of age* 
His schoolmaster would not give him a 
holiday to see the troops going off, but his 
father did. It was a sight to be remembered 
when the troops embarked during the war. 
The news was watched for eagerly, and 
talked over nightly. The Bishop's family, 
like so many others, had relatives in the war. 
Captain John Boyd, the Bishop's uncle, who 
was in command of the Royal George^ 
planted the only shot in Cronstadt Later 
he lost his life in attempting to rescue the 
crew of a small brig off Kingstown harbour. 

His monument is in 
St. Patrick's Cathe- 
dral, Dublin, 

At this point of 
our conversation the 
Bishop alluded to a 
well-known story and 

The story on which 
theepigram is founded 
is of two Irishmen, 
one of whom chal- 
lenged the other to a 
duel. But when the 
eventful hour arrived 
one sat down and 
wrote that, were it 
only his honour at 
stake he w T ould meet 
his opponent, hut his 
wife depended on 
him, so he begged to 
decline. The other 
individual sent a 
message to say that 
if honour were the 
cordon, is. cufvnL only consideration he 

would come, but he 
had a daughter and therefore prayed to be 
excused. So the epigram read : — 

Two brave (sons of Erin, intent upon slaughter, 
Improved on the Hebrew's command : 

One honoured his wife and the other his daughter, 
That their days might be long in the land. 

"This clever epigram," said the Bishop, 
11 is popularly said to have been written by 
Flood ? but I have always understood that it 
was written by my mother's mother," 

That the Bishop*s pen is occasionally 
employed in throwing off these epigrams is 
shown by the following It will be remem- 
bered that at the time of the great storm at 
Samoa p . | C^p^in M Kau9 1|T \yith a pluck and 
judgmmrwmm-CTi'lEOT'ihe applause of tb' 



From a Photo, op) 


I miott * Fry. 

American and German crews in the harbour, 
took his vessel out to sea and so saved her. 
When questions were asked in Parliament as 
to what honour would be conferred on 
Captain Kane in recognition of his services, 
the First Lord -of the Admiralty replied 
"that Kane had only done his duty, and if 
he had lost his ship he would have been 
court-rnartiallcd," So the Bishop wrote : — 

What shall l>c done for Kane ? 

Who brought his vessel safe through wave 

With skilful hand and heart as brave; 
What shall be done 
for Kane 7 

What shall he have? 

"We solve the 


Cries the Firs! 

Lord, impartial ; 

" If Kane had failed, 

he would have got 

Our pickle rod — 

court- mar tiaU" 

Then talk no more of 

praise or gain, 
Our tnglish principle 

is plain : 
When storm winds 

rise to hurricane, 
If Kane escape he 

'scapes the cane ! 

Here is another 
example : — 

With regard to 
the recent confer- 
ence at Grintld- 
wald, which the 
Bishop had hoped 

to attend, it wouid 
not, it appears, 
have been his 
first visit, for at 
the request of the 
Bishop of London 
he acted as his 
deputy in opening 
the new English 
church destroyed 
in the recent fire. 
This church was 
built by the bro- 
thers Boss, who 
with their family, 
to the number of 
seven, keep the 
adjacent hotel, 
called "The Bean" 
The following 
lines were written 
by the Bishop 
in their 
book : — 


A sign upon the earth, behold 3 

Competes with one in heaven, 
The Hear above, the " Beat " below, 

The stars that form them, seven. 
But when these signs com pared are, 

Judge then the heavenly losses ; 
For all declare the earthly stars 

Most surely are the Bosses ! 

He won an open scholarship at St 
Catharine^ College, Cambridge, and re- 
mained there until he took his degree in 1864. 
The late Attorney-General was the repre- 

I Eiliou * Frf, 



Frtm a Photo, btf 


sentative of Cambridge in sports in those attend 
days. The late Mr, Tarn ell was at Cam- nothing 
bridge at the same time, and Lord 
Carrington and Mr. F. C, Burnand 
were among the most important mem- 
bers of the Cambridge A.D.C., as it 
was called. The acting in those days 
was of a very high order. The Bishop 
was cox. of his college boat ; not a 
very enviable position — " you've got all 
the responsibility and none of the 
kudos," A cox. is like a bishop: he can 
only guide, he cannot give strength. 

His lordship referred to the great im- 
provement in University life tonday com- 
pared with thirty years ago. Much less 
wine is consumed now, and a man can 
go through the 'Varsity as a teetotaler 
without any inconvenience. At college 
the young man began a practical train- 
ing for the ministry — giving lectures 
attending district meetings, and teach- 
ing in the Sunday school* 

The Bishop's first curacy was at Maid- 
stone, and, strangely enough, he was 
ordained by Bishop I.ongley. My visit 
to the Palace was in the full tide of the 
cholera scare, and the Bishop referred 
to his experiences of it at Maidstone. 

11 1 was working there," he said, "when 
the cholera broke out in 1866* My 
vicar was away, I assisted a little, 
more especially at a rookery called Tad's 
Hole, then a den of thieves — now a low- 
lying little spot I well remember the 

first case I visited. 
It was a poor fel- 
low who was a 
very regular atten- 
dant at church, I 
went in at half- 
past ten to see 
him* I went again 
at half-past one. 
As I walked up 
the hill a woman 
met me and cried, 
'He's gone!' He 
had been carried 
off in four hours. 
The truth is the 
people were taken 
by surprise, and 
few precautions 
were taken — there 
was no organized 
system of nurses 
then. The women 
who were sent to 
the cholera ■ stricken people knew 
about nursing. They drank the 

\EUuM d Fry. 


IKiJi-iff tf Fr?t. 



brandy intended for the relief of the sufferers, 
I went into one house to see a woman. The 
nurse was intoxicated. Shortly after the poor 
woman died. At the graveside stood the 
nurse, still suffering from the effects of drink. 
" Whenever I walk along here I feel 
indebted to Longley for one great thing," 
continued the Bishop. w You see these trees ?" 
pointing to a magnificent belt of trees im- 
mediately in front of us. " They keep away 
the cutting Yorkshire winds. Longley planted 
these*" Some idea of the pow T er of the winds 
may be gathered from a note in Bishop 
Longley's diary already referred to. It 
was on the nights of the 6th and 7th 
of January, 1839, and all the north of 

there — the congregation was the choir. 
Here, in Yorkshire, choirs are invaluable, 
The people enjoy it — they will have a choir." 

I asked the Bishop if he thought well of 
the introduction of orchestras into our 
churches. His reply was thoroughly frank 
and real. 

" In the old days,' 1 he said, <£ men used to 
play in the churches, and ne\ T er expected to 
be paid. Tht condition of life since then 
has very much changed. If every man will 
bring his instrument to church as a personal 
act of homage to the glory of his Maker, 
by all means let us have it We are in 
danger of forgetting that if our acts are not 
the personal homage of our hearts, such are 

Fr%sto\ u I'hiitQ. Itfft 


I /.!■!■.?? d /-j-y 

England was affected by the storm. The 
Earl of Lonsdale lost 70,000 trees in his 
young plantation, and the magnificent avenue 
at Castle Howard was almost destroyed. 
The whole of the kitchen garden wall was 
blown down at the Palace, Bishop Longley 
very wisely put up that grand screen of trees. 

His lordship entertains grateful recollec- 
tions of his days at Maidstone under his 
vicar, the Rev. David Dale Stewart. He 
remained there two years, afterwards hold- 
ing curacies at Clapham, and Lee in Kent. 
From Lee he went to St. James's, Hollo- 
way, to assist the Rev. \V. B, Mackenzie. 

"Mr, Mackenzie," said the Bishop, "was a 
remarkable man ; his power in church and 
pulpit was singularly great. He only had 
one curacy and one incumbency, I suc- 
ceeded him as vicar, remaining there 
from 1870 to 1880. There was no choir 

not acceptable service, I am a little afraid 
that we are just now passing through such 
days of activity as will possibly cause us to 
forget the reality of things. We want, as 
Lord Mount-Tempb said, the Deep Church 
as well as the High and Low. Yes, let us have 
orchestras in churches if you will, but I don't 
want the man to go into a place of worship 
with his fiddle-case under his arm and the 
idea in his mind that he is going to take 
part in a mere performance !" 

At Holloway he founded many excellent 
institutions — classes for French, German, 
shorthand, etc The young men had their 
House of Commons, with their vicar as 
Speaker. Many of the " M.P.'s " who belonged 
to the Highbury Parliament have since turned 
out admirable speakers and useful citizens. 

After leaving Sc, James's, the Bishop 
became 1 1 WtaltN .tofJ rCfri&t I Church, Lancaster 


2 3 

From a Photo, bg Ellktit it FYv> 

Gate. He was Select 
Preacher at Cambridge 
in 1875 and 1877 ; Hulsean Lecturer at Cam- 
bridge, 1878 j Honorary Chaplain to the 
Queen, 1878 ; Select Preacher at Oxford in 
1882, when he was also appointed to a vacant 
Canonry at Windsor ; Bampton Lecturer, 
1887, and in 1889 he receded an honorary 
D.CL from the University of Oxford. 

On the death of the late Dr. Bickersteth, 
in 1884, he was consecrated Bishop of 
Ripon, His duties at the House of Lords 
consist of a fortnight or three weeks in each 
year, for the purpose of reading prayers. 
This duty, which once devolved entirely upon 
the junior Bishop, is now undertaken in 
turns, with the exception of the seniors in 

It was market-day when we took our 
way through the streets and great square 
which forms the market-place of the more 
than a thousand-year-old city. It still keeps 
up the old-fashioned custom of the blowing of 
a horn at morning and night near the Mayor's 

On the north side of the Cathedral stands 
the Deanery. The Dean of Ripon, who is 
eighty-four, was cox, in the Oxford crew of 
the first 'Varsity race, and he acted as page 
at the coronation of William IV. His 
picturesque and venerable figure is one of 
the best known in Ripon. Dean Fremantle 
has made Ripon his home in the truest 
sense, ever since his appointment to the 
Deanery, now sixteen years ago. He has 
thrown himself with vigour and devotion 
into every good work in the city and 
neighbourhood. In the Millenary year he 

presented a magnificent silver-mounted horn 
to the Mayor and Corporation, as guardians 
of the city. More recently he presented a 
pleasant bathing shed and offices to the 
neighbourhood. He believes in the healthy 
exercise of swimming and boating and cricket. 
He still preaches with energy and impres- 
siveness, and large congregations gather at 
the nave services in the Cathedral, where his 
voice is heard throughout the building. It is 
said that his portrait is to be hung up among 
the city worthies in the Town Hall His 
sterling goodness, his generosity, his unfailing 
courtesy and kindness have endeared him to 
everyone ; and all would readily allow that he 
is the best-loved citizen of the comely little 
Yorkshire town. 

The near view of Ripon Cathedral is 
not particularly striking ; its beauty is more 
impressive at a distance. Inside, however, 
though at first appearance somewhat bare- 
looking, there is much that is beauti- 
ful in architectural design. One is struck 
with its really magnificent width particularly, 
and the curious and sudden breaking up of 
the Norman arch, near the nave, by a Gothic 
pillar. The carving, however, of the stalls 
is very fine, and in many instances of 
great rarity. Beneath the stalls are 
many quaint specimens of the carver's 
handiwork. Beneath the Bishop s throne arc 
the two spies of Joshua carrying the grapes, 
and a couple of giants are represented on 
either side, one all head and no body, the 
other all body with his head in the middle. 
Another stall shows Jonah being thrown 
overboard, with a whale waiting with open 
mouth to receive him, and near at hand is a 


carving of Pontius Pilate wheeling away 
Judas in a wheelbarrow with his bag of silver. 
Yet amongst all that is interesting in and 
about the cathedral nothing is more so 
than the Saxon 
Chapel under the 
crypt It is the ear- 
liest known place of 
worship in the king- 
dom, its architecture 
being about the 
seventh century. We 
light our candles and 
follow the verger 
down the stone steps* 
The descent is a 
trifle treacherous. 
There are little 
niches in the wall 
where candles are 
placed. Then we 
enter the chapel. It 
is perfectly dark, and 
smells very earthy. A 
hole in one side of 
the wall is pointed 
out. Tradition says 
that in the old days, 
when people had 
anything suspicious 
against them, they 

were brought to this spot If they suc- 
ceeded in crawling through to the other 
side they were blameless ; if they could 
not, they were unquestionably guilty. It 

is also said that the 
young damsel who 
creeps through is sure 
to get married within 
the year. Be this as 
it may> I was assured 
that very recently a 
Yorkshire farmer 
brought his three 
daughters and sought 
permission for them 
to crawl through the 
lucky hole. Another 
daughter who had 
been through suc- 
ceeded in getting 
married, and the 
father of the remain- 

by Google 

Original from 

A Little Surprise* 


Adapted from the French of Abraham Dreyfus 
By Constance Beerbohm* 

Characters : 

Sir William Beauchamp, Bart. (43). Mr. James Dugdale (23)- 
Lady Florence Beauchamp (39), Kate Dugdale fi8). 

Porter, the Ladfs-maid (30). 

Scene : A country drawing-room. A French window opening on to a flower garden at the 
back of the stage. Doors right and left. A sofa f arm-chairs, smaller chairs ; etc . 

At the rise of the curtain, J EM and KiTTY art disccifered sitting with their backs to one another, 
evident iy sulking. Jem looks round every now and then, trying to catch his wifes eye, and she 
studiously avoids kis glance. At length their eyes meet 

I tell you 

EM (rises); No 
I can't stand it 1 

Kitty : And why not ? I 
always went out with the guns 
at home, 

Jem : " At home" and your 
husband's house are two very different places, 
Kitty: Sol find! 

Jem : And I have told you over 
and. over again I detest to see any 

* The rights of representation are reserved. 

woman— more especially a girl of eighteen, 
like yourself — tramping over the moors 
in gaiters, and a skirt by a long way too 
short ! 

Kitty : Perhaps, with your old-maidish 
ideas, you would like to see me taking my 
walks abroad with a train as long as my 
Court frock ! 

Jem: Perversity ! jvnm 

KiTTYjjk.J. AnlK,|kfj^^|-jthat papa, mamma, 

Vol Y + -* 

and grandmamma always said 



Jem : Ah ! But your grandmother 

Kitty : How dare you speak in that way 
of dear grandmamma ? 

Jem : I never said a word against her 

Kitty : But you were going to ! 

Jem : Nothing of the sort. 

Kitty (repeats) : I onl/ know that papa, 
mamma, and grandmamma always said 

Jem : Oh, Heavens ! (He escapes.) 
- Kitty : Was ever anyone so wretched as I ? 
Only three months married, and to find my 
husband an obstinate, vindictive, strait-laced 
country bumpkin ! Well, not a bumpkin 
perhaps, after all, but almost as bad as 
that ! Why, oh ! why did I leave my 
happy home, where I could do what I 
liked from morning till night, and no one 
was ever disagreeable to me ? And yet 
during my engagement what a lovely time 
I had ! Jem seemed so kind and gentle, and 
promised me he would never say a cross 
word to me ! He declared our married life 
should be one long sunshiny summer day ; 
whilst I promised to be his little ministering 
angel ! I reminded him of that yesterday. 
And what did he say ? That he had never 
thought a little ministering angel could be 
such a little brute ! I can hardly believe he 
is the same man I used to love so dearly ! 
(Exit in tears.) 
(After a moment. Porter, the lady's-maid, 

enters, ushering in Lady Florence 


Lady Flo : Your mistress is not here, 
after all, Porter? 

Porter : No, milady ! Yet I heard her 
voice only a few moments ago. 

Lady Flo : Well then, Porter, you must 
go and tell her a lady wishes to speak with 
her in the boudoir, and be sure not to say 
who the " lady " is, however much she may 
ask. I wish this visit to be a little surprise 
to her. Nor must you mention that Sir 
William is here. 
(Enter Kitty, with traces of tears on her face.) 

Lady Flo : Kitty, darling, Kitty ! 

Kitty : Aunty ! Can it be you ? This is 
delightful ! ( They embrace.) 

Lady Flo : I'm glad you call it delight- 
ful ! I came here as a little surprise to you ; 
but I daresay you will think me a great bore 
for taking you by storm, and interrupting 
your tete-a-tete with Jem. 

Kitty : Oh ! far from it ! I am only too, 
too happy youVe come ! 

Lady Flo : Is that the real truth ? 

Kitty : Indeed, it is ! 

Lady Flo : I thought I should find you 
as blooming as a rose in June ; but you are 

not quite so flourishing as I expected. Those 
pretty eyes look as if — as if — well, as if you 
had a cold in the head ! 

Kitty : They look as if I had been cry- 
ing, you mean ! And so I have. (Bursts 
into tears afresh, and throws herself into Lady 
Flo's arms.) 
(Enter Sir William and Jem, the former 

standing amazed. Kitty, leaving Lady 

Flo's arms, throws herself into those of Sir 

William, with renewed sobs. Sir William 

turns in surprise to Jem. Lady Flo looks 

down in embarrassment.) 

Jem: Oh! yes, Kitty! This is all very 
well. Why not tell them I'm a monster at 
once? . 

Kitty : And so you are ! 

Jem (aside) : Have you no sense of 
decency ? 

Lady Flo (aside): This is truly shocking. 

Sir W, (aside): Good Heavens ! 

Kitty : Is it my fault that my uncle and 
aunt are witnesses of your ill-temper? 
(Enter Porter. ) 

Porter : Your ladyship's trunks have just 
arrived from the station. 

Lady Flo (hesitating) : Let them be 
taken back again. 

Sir W. : We had intended staying but 
an hour or two. 

Jem (to Sir W.) : But I beg you to stay. 

Kitty (to Lady Flo) : Never were you 
so much needed. 

Jem (to Porter): Let her ladyship's 
trunks be taken to the Blue Rooms. 

Kitty : Not to the Blue Rooms. They are 
quite damp. (To Jem) I may speak a word 
in my own house, I suppose? ( To Porter) 
Let the trunks be taken to the Turret Room. 

Jem : The chimneys smoke there. 

Kitty : Excuse me. They do not. 

Jem : Excuse me. They do. 

Sir W. : They smoked once upon a time, 
perhaps, but may not now. 

Porter : Where may I say the luggage is 
to be carried ? 

Jem : Take your orders from your mistress. 

Kitty : No ! From your master ! 

Jem (to Kitty) : Spare me at least before 
the lady's-maid ! 

Kitty (to Jem): Oh ! nobody knows better 
how you behave than Porter. Our quarrels 
are no secret from her. 

Jem : That must be your fault. How can 
she know of them but from you ? 

Kitty : I tell her nothing. But your voice 
would reach to the ends of the earth. 

Jem - As for yours — why 

Kitty : Grandmamma always said my 



voice was the most gentle she had ever 

Jem : But, then, your grandmother 

Sir W. (to Lady Flo) : I really think we 
had be tier leave, after all. 

Lady Flo (affectionately) ; No ! dearest 
Will ! I really think we had better stay, 

Sir W. : For my part 

Lady Flo : I tell you we must stay. 

Sir W + : Very well, Flo, as you wish. You 
always know best. (They exchange smiles,) 

Lady Flo (to Jem) ■ Kitty will take me 
to my room. So I leave my better half in 
your good company. (Exit with Kitty.) 

Sir W\ : I can't help regretting I came 
here, old fellow. It was your aunt's idea. I 
made objections. But she insisted that 
you'd both be glad enough to have a little 
interruption in your honeymoon. 

Jem : She never said a truer word. 

Sir \Y\ : Then the honeymoon is not so 
great a success, after all ? 

Jem : To tell the truth, it's all a ghastly 
failure ! 

Sir W, ; Poor boy ! Believe me, I'm 
awfully sorry for you- (Puts his hand on Jem's 

Jem : Fm awfully glad you're 

Sir W. : I pity you from my 

Jem : Thanks very much. 

Sir W. : For my part, if I led 
a cat-and-dog life with your aunt, 
I should wish to blow my brains 

Jem : So that's the advice you 
give me ! (Moves towards 

door ) 

StR W, : Oh! no! All I want 
is five minutes' chat with you, 
Anything that affects Flo's niece 
naturally affects me. 

Jem: N a tu ral ly . (Laughs. ) 

Sir W, : Now come! Tell me ! 
How did your misunderstand- 
ings begin ? 

Jem: I really couldn't say. 

Sir W. : And yet quarrels 
always have a beginning. 

Jem: Of course, when women 
are so confoundedly selfish. 

Sir W, : Kitty is selfish? 

Jem : I don't want t^ make 
any complaints about her. Vet 
I must admit that she 
absolutely no interest in 
thing which interests me, 
know my hobby — fishing— 

Sir W. : And Kitty doesn't care for fishing ? 

Jem; Not she! Though, finding myself 
here, surrounded with trout streams, you 
may imagine how I was naturally anxious to 
spend my days. Kitty said fishing was a bore, 
and after having come out with me once or 
twice, she sternly refused to do so any more. 
And why? Simply because she wanted to 
tramp about with the shooters from Dan by, 

Ser W, : All this is but a trifling dissimilarity 
of taste, and insufficient to cause a real 

Jem : A trifling dissimilarity ! Why, our 
tastes differ in every essential point I Kitty 
has got it into her head that a woman should 
take an interest in things ** outs! Je herself." 
A friend of her mother's, who used to con- 
duct her to the British Museum, taught her 
to believe in Culture — with a capital "G" 
To hear her talk of Fompeiian marbles, Flax- 
man's designs, and all that sort of thing — - 
why, it's sickening ! 

Sir W, : It strikes me you are unreasonable, 

Jem : Oh, no ! Fm not ! A woman who 
takes an interest in things outside herself 
becomes a nuisance. 


— j 





Sir W. : And yet I believe that with a 
little tact, a little gentleness, you would be 
able to manage Kitty, just as I have managed 
your aunt all these long years. There is no 
doubting the dear girl's affection for you. 
Remember her joy when her mother's 
scruples as to the length of your engage- 
ment were overcome. 

Jem : That's true enough. Kitty was very 
fond of me three months ago. But it isn't 
only fondness I require of a wife. She must 
be bored when I'm bored, and keen when 
I'm keen, and that sort of thing, you know. 

Sir W. : Yes ! I see. In fact, lose her 
identity, as your dear good aunt has lost 
licrs ! 

Jem {aside) : Or, Vather, as you have lost 
yours ! 

Sir W. : Well, I'll try and view things in 
your light, my good fellow. At the same 
time, you must have great patience — 
very great patience, Jem, and then all 
may come right in the end. It is true I 
never needed patience with your aunt. But 
had there been the necessity, I should 
have been equal to the demand. Now, I 
daresay your little quarrels have been but 
short lived ; and that after having caused 
Kitty any vexation, you have always been 
ready to come forward with kind words to 
make up your differences ? 

Jem : Yes, ready ! But not too ready, as I 
feared too much indulgence might not be 
advisable. Now, one morning, after having 
been out early, I determined t j give up 
fishing for the rest of the day to please Kitty. 
On my way home — remember, it was before 
eight o'clock — I met her betaking herself to 
what she calls "matins." Now, I like a girl 
to be good and strict, and all that sort of 
thing. But imagine going to church at 
eight o'clock on a Monday morning ! 

Sir W. : A slight error in judgment ; you 
might easily forgive the dear child. 

Jem : I didn't find it easy. I said so. 
And Kitty refused her breakfast in conse- 
quence — only to aggravate me. 

Sir W. : No ! No ! Perhaps she fasted 
only to soften your heart ! 

Jem : Far from it. In fact, to sum up the 
whole matter, we have no common sympathies. 
Kitty has not even any ambition, for 
instance, as to my future. You know I wish 
to stand for Portborough one day ? 

Sir W. : You It 

Jem : Why not? 

Sir W. : Oh, no! Of course! Why not, as 
you say? 

Jem : Yet if I begin to discuss it all with 

her, she begins to yawn ; and her yawning 
drives me nearly mad, when I am talking 
on a matter of vital interest. 

Sir W. : Dear ! Dear ! I begin to find 
all this more serious than I thought. For it 
does seem to me as if you differed on most 

Jem (moodily) : So we do. 

Sir W. : Ah ! I am afraid it may be pretty 
serious ! And after listening to all your 
story I can't help feeling, my dear fellow, 
that there is not the chance of things 
bettering themselves, as I had hoped in the 
first instance. 

Jem : You feel that? 

Sir W. : I do ! I do ! This divergence 
of taste and sympathies is no laughing 
matter. It rather alarms me when I think 
that the abyss between you and your wife as 
time goes on may only widen. (He indi- 
cates an imaginary abyss \ which Jem stares at 
dubiously,) Yes! widen — and widen! 

Jem (after a moment's pause of half surprise, 
half pain): What you say is not consoling. 

Sir W. : At first I thought differently ; but 
now I hesitate to mislead you, and I admit 
my heart sinks when I think of your future, 
after hearing all you have to say. Indeed, 
I hope I may be mistaken. I have, 
as you knov;, but little experience in these 
matters. Your un f and I have lived in un- 
disturbed harmony these fifteen years. Never 
has an angry word been heard w T ithin our walls. 

Jem : Whilst Kitty and I squabbled as soon 
as we had left the rice and slippers behind 
us ! And since then scarcely an hour has 
passed without some sort of difference. I 
declare, when I think over it, that it would 
be best for us to plunge into the ice at once. 
A separation is the only hope for us. But, 
hush ! I think I hear Aunt Flo's and Kitty's 
footsteps ! (Lowers his voice, speaking rapidly) 
For Heaven's sake, don't breathe a word of 
what I have said ! Fool that I've been ! 
Worse than a fool — disloyal ! Not a word to 
my aunt ! 

Sir W. : Oh ! I promise you ! (Mysteriously 
into Jem's ear) Women are so indiscreet. 
Now, I wouldn't tell your aunt for the wide 
world ! 

(Enter Lady Flo and Kitty, who have 
overheard the last words.) 

Lady Flo (icv ) : I beg pardon ! We 
interrupt ! 

Jem : Not at all ! We were merely 
discussing the relations of man and wife ! 
Uncle Will has been telling me that a wife — 
you, under the circumstances — has everything 
in her own hands. 




Lady Flo (flattered): Indeed ! 

Kitty ; Indeed ! I must say that no one 
could appreciate Aunt Flo's virtues more than 
I, although at the same time I am certain 
she would very soon have lost her sweet 
temper if her husband had been aggravating, 
ignorant, domineering ! 

Jem : Why not call me a savage at once ? 

Kitty : A savage ! Yes ! A savage ! 

Lady Flo : Oh ! Kitty ! Kitty ! Is this 
the way to make friends ? 

Jem : Come, Uncle Will ! Let us go into 
the smoking-room ! I shall choke here ! 

Sir W. : There's but little hope for them ! 
Little hope ! Little hope I (Exit, shaking 
his head.) 

Kitty : Now, perhaps, you believe that I 
have something to put up with ? 

Lady Flo (soothingly) • And yet there's 
no doubt Jem is extremely fond of you, 

Kitty : He hs a strange way of showing 
it ! The other morning, after we had had 
one of our little scenes, I went down to the 
stream to find him when he was fishing. I 
would even have been willing to try and bait 
(shudders) his hook, But as I was starting 
off I met him coming up the garden, and he 

stared at me like 
an avenging god 
(or demon, I 
should say), and 
asked if I wasn't 
on my way to 
matins ? Natur- 
ally, I did not 
contradict him. 

Lady Flo s 
Dearest 1 You dis- 
tress me ! 

Kitty: There's 

another thing I 

can't endure ! You 

know I took the 

pledge, so as to be 

a good example 

to the village 

people here. 

Well ! Jem is 

furious every time 

I refuse wine at luncheon or dinner. He 

declares that I post I Can you imagine such 

nonsense ? 

Lady Flo ; Well, dear I I confess I 
sympathize with Jem. I don't think any 
really nice women ever take the pledge — do 
they ? I only ask, you know, 

Kitty : Why, yes ! Of course they do, 
aunty — when they want to be good examples, 
Jem cannot understand this ; and, far from 
taking the pledge himself* he revolts me day 
after day by drinking — {whispers mysteriously ) 
—Bass's pale ale ! 

Lady Flo : Ah ! That's bad ! But, oh ! 
my dear, if you only knew the proper way to 
manage a husband ! 

Kitty : How could I ? For Jem is as un- 
manageable as the Great Mogul. 

Lady Flo : I see you don't realize how 
the most violent men are those most easy to 

subdue, Now, there's your uncle 

Kitty : I always thought him as mild as 
Moses I 

Lady Flo : So he is now ! But there 

was a time 

Kitty : Oh ! Do tell me all about 
it ! 

Lady Flo : Well. There was a time when 
your uncle imagined he might be allowed to 
complain if dinner were late* One day he 
actually dared to ask, in a voice of thunder, 
" Is dinner ready ? " 

Kitty : Jem dares that every day, 
Lady Flo : It happened to be the cook's 
fault, Oriqinalfrom 

f Kr ™i^MiNT#fisrr? uld make no dif - 

ference to Jem, 



Lady Flo (impatient): I wish, darling, 
you would allow me to speak ! 

Kitty: Oh! I beg pardon. 

Lady Flo (continuing, blandly) : Not at 
all ! Now, I replied : "The salmon has just 
fallen into the fire, and cook has had to send 
for another 1 " 

Kitty: That was true ? 

Lady Flo : Not in the least ! I had 
ordered red mullet And Will ate his fish 
without noticing the difference. 

Kitty: Jem would not have made that 

Lady Flo: Oh, yes, he would, if you had 
just glanced at him in the right manner. 

Kitty (eagerly) : Show me how to do it ! 

Lady Flo (drily): It requires the inspira- 
tion of the moment. Ah ! could you but see 
me with Will ! 

Kitty: It is certain you are very happy 

Lady Flo : So we are ; owing to my 
always using sweetness, firmness, and in- 
difference just at the right moment But all 
this, I confess, requires intelligence. 

Kitty: Had I but the intelligence I It 
must be splendid to be able to avert a 
coming storm in this way. 

Lady Flo : There never has been the 
question of a storm between Will and me ! 

Kitty: Happy, happy people! 

Lady Flo : And you, my very dear 
children, must become happy, happy people 
too ! William would feel your sorrow as 
deeply as I. We must do all in our power 
to restore peace and comfort between you ! 
I shall try my very utmost to show you your 
little failings — here and there — you know. 
And as for Will ! Why, he'll talk Jem over 
in no time ! Before a week is out we shall 
see you walking arm-in-arm to matins — the 
happiest couple in all Yorkshire. 

Kitty : Impossible ! 

Lady Flo: Nay ! We can but try. 
(Enter Sir William.) Ah ! Here comes 
your uncle. Now, run away, dear, and leave 
us alone for a discreet little talk. Who 
knows but what we may hit upon a plan to 
help you ! (Exit Kitty.) 

Lady Flo : Will, dearest ! We must talk 
very seriously over our niece and nephew 

Sir W. (aside) .• It is high time ! 

Lady Flo : But, first of all, by the way, I 
want to know what it was you were saying 
to Jem, when I came into the room a few 
minutes ago. 

Sir W. (consciously): To Jem? Why, I 
was saying nothing to Jem ! 

Lady Fi-o : Oh, yes, you were ! Now try 
to remember. Kitty and I heard you talking 
in quite an excited manner as we came 
downstairs. Then as we came nearer the 
door you lowered your voice. 

Sir W. : Indeed, no / 

Lady Flo : Yes, yes, you did, dear ! 

Sir W. : No, no, I didn't, dear ! 

Lady Fix) : Don't tell fibs, darling. 

Sir W. : You want to know too much, my 
dear, good Flo. 

Lady Flo : Too much? Oh, no ! That 
would be impossible ! However, I know you 
will tell me the whole truth by-and-by. 

Sir W. : First let me know what you have 
to say. 

Lady Flo: Well, I'm in the deepest 
distress about the two young people. They 
seem to be at terrible loggerheads. Now, per- 
haps Jem confided the secret of his unhappy 
married life to you ? 

Sir W. : He never said a word about it ! 
(Bites his lip,) 

Lady Fix) : Nevertheless, I assure you 
they lead a cat-and-dog existence. 

Sir W. : Oh, dear, dear ! Is that so ? 

Lady Flo : Why, of course ! You saw 
them quarrelling yourself. But still I have 
hopes we may be able to arrange matters a 
little better for them. Who knows but what 
we may see them re-united before we leave 
this house ? 

Sir W. : We will do our best to help them, 
poor young things ! 

Lady Flo : Yes ! Poor young things ! 

Sir W. : And I've no doubt we shall 

Lady Flo : At the same time, it seems to 
me as if the abyss between them may widen. 

Sir W. : That may be so. The abyss 
may widen ! (Indicates an imaginary abyss f 
at which Lady Flo shakes her head.) 

Lady Flo : If a man and woman aren't 
made for one another 

Sir W. : Like you and me. I pointed 
that out to Jem. 

Lady Flo : I'm afraid it didn't affect him 
as it ought ( With a sentimental sigh) The 
only consolation we can derive from the 
misfortune of our nephew and niece is that 
we are happier than they ! 

Sir W. : Clever little woman ! (Kisses her.) 

Lady Flo : Dear old Will ! (Kisses him. 
Then with a sudden change of tone) But 
now I must hear what it was Jem was saying 
to you when I came into the room ! You 
answered that " of course you wouldn't tell 
his aunt fox the wide world." That must 
have been tifaftw de purler / 


Sir W. : Of course ! of course ! 
And you shall know-U about it 
as soon as I have asked Jem } s 
leave. Meanwhile we must 
attend to the fates of these un- 
happy young people* We had 
better first try to show them their 
grievous fault as gently as pos- 
sible, and if gentleness does not 

Lady Flo : Oh, yes ! Gentle- 
ness is all very well ! But I tell you quite 
candidly, Will, that before we talk of gentle- 
ness I must insist on knowing what it is you 
told Jem that you would not let me hear. 

Sir W, : The fact is, my dear — - — (Coughs,) 

Lady Flo : Tell me what the fact is, and 
at once f my dear ! 

Sir W, : The facts are, dear child 

(Coughs again.) 

Ladv Flo (irritaied) ; Don't cough ! 

Sir W. (continues coughing) : Well ! it's a 
long story. 

Lady Flo : Haven't you a lozenge ? 

Sir W, : Never mind the lozenge ! The 
story, I say, is a long one. 

Lady Flo : Long or short, I must hear 

Sir W. : I'll tell it you, lateT on. 

Lady Flo : I begin to suspect you can't 
tell me all about it, simply — because you 

Sir W. : Oh I I can ! I could ! 

Lady Flo : Oh, no, you can't You 
couldn't, and you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself ! 

Sir W, : You are going just a little bit too 
far, Florence. 

Lady Flo : Oh, no ; it was you who went 
too far. Why, I knew it by the look on your 
face the instant I came into the room ! 

sir w. ; "the abyss May wiDtN J* 
(indicates ah imaginary abyss.) 

Sir W, (aside): She is going very much 
too far, (Aloud) Nonsense ! 

Lady Flo : I beg pardon ? 

Sir W, : I repeat "Nonsense" And 
ridiculous nonsense / 

Lady Flo ; Then, how dare you ? 

Sir W, : You forget yourself strangely. 

Lady Flo : Do not attempt to adopt 
your nephew's manner to his wife towards 
me ! 

Sir W. : It is you, my love, who are un- 
fortunate in your choice of a manner this 
morning \ and although pettishness in a young 
girl like Kitty has a certain little charm of 
its own ■ 

Lady Flo : Yes ! 

Sir W. : When a woman has reached 

your time of life 

Lady Flo (furious) : Yes ! ! ! 

Sir W, : Petulance sits remarkably ill 
upon her — upon yau f my dear 

Lady Flo : When a man has reached 
your time of life and remains as great a 
f 00 ] . 

Sir W. (furious): Afoot? 
Lady Flo : Yes ! As great a fool and an 
idiot as ever 

Sir W, v. ■ I- was always aware you had 
the very devil of n temper, Florence, and 
now, after fifteen years of married life, I 



make the discovery that you can be exces- 
sively—ahem !— unladylike, 

Lady Flo : It's highly amusing to hear 
you express an opinion on the subject of 
how a lady should behave. When one re- 
members your sisters, one is inclined to 
believe you were not, perhaps, brought up in 
a school of the very highest standard 

Sir W. : You insult my sisters ! (Becomes 
much excited and takes her by the arm.) 
Repeat that again ! 

(Enter Jem. Stands in amazement.) 

Jem: For Heaven's sake, what is 
matter ? 

Sir W. : Ask your Aunt Florence, 
dear boy* 

Lady Flo : I feel positively ashamed that 
you should come upon us — upon your uncle, 
I mean — at a moment when he is behaving 
like a raving madman ! 

Jem : A raving madman ! My uncle Jem ! 

Lady Flo : Man-like, you side with a 



Sir \\\ : Florence! Once for all, I assert my 
authority. Be silent this moment, or I shall 
feel obliged to ask you to return home. 

Lady Flo : Without you P 

Sir W. : If that pleases you ! 

Lady Flo : It would suit me remarkably 

Sir W, • In that case— " Go ! " 

Lady Flo : I shall, instantly ; and when 
you desire to come home, I shall give the 
servants orders not to admit you 

Sift W* (turning to Jem) : A man not 
admitted to his own house 1 That's rather 
too good, isn't it, Jem ? 

Lady Flo : We shall see ! (Thrns to 
Kitty) Meanwhile, Kitty, I bid you good-bye. 

Kitty s Oh ! Aunty ! You can't mean 
that ! Pray don't say good-bye ! 

Lady Flo (dramatically); Yes, I mean 

il Good-bye 77 1 (Brus.hs furiously past Sir 

William, and exit. Kitty makes movement to 

follow^ but returns to Sir William and Jem.) 

jfc&i : "what is the matter? 1 * 

man \ ( With increasing agitation) I have 
always known your uncle to be a weak, 
nerveless — — (Enter Kitty. Looks around, 

Kitty : Dear aunty ! Fm frightened ! 
You can't be well ! What does this 

Lady Flo \ Only that your husband is 
inciting mine to be abusive, 

Kitty : Impossible ! 

Lady Flo : Woman-like, you side with a 
man I Let me tell you that 

uncle is 

your poor 
pitiable in his foolishness this 

us toousnness t 

Sir W. (bitterly); Don't hold her back, 

Jem* : You are mad ! 

Sir W. : Less mad than you, when an 
hour ago you told me you found life intoler- 
able with Kitty. 

Kitty (moved) ; He said that ? Jem said 
that to you ? 

Jem : No> no ! (Compunctious.) 

Sir W. : Oh ! It's an easy matter for two 
young people to kiss again with tears. Twill 
be a different matter between your aunt and 
me, Florence vj\X\ have no chance, however 
much |^| ^fty l^^^lf^he time has come 



for me to put down my foot at last. ( Exit, 

talking and gesticulating angrily.) 

(After the exit of Sir William, Jem and 

Kitty look up slowly at one another. Their 

eyes mteh They turn away.) 

Jem (much embarrassed) : Kitty ! 

Kitty : Jem ! 

Jem : This is painful! In fact, it's worse 
than wicked— it's vulgar I 

Kitty (gently); It's simply dreadful to see 
two people behaving in such a way, 

Jem : And at their time of life ! 

Kitty ; That's the awful part of it 1 

Jem ; I wonder how they can do it I 

Kitty ( archly % yet on the verge of tears) : 
So do I ! 
(At the last words they turn ; their eyes meet. 

Kitty falters, Jem falters. After 

a moment they fall into one another's 

arms. ) 

Lady Flo ; I wish to go this instant, and alone. 

Sir W, i By all means, and to-morrow my 
lawyer shall wait on you. 

Lady Flo : And mine on you. (After a 
moment, they enter.) 
Lady Flo : And it has come to this,WilIiam ! 

Sir W. : By mutual consent, This is the 
happiest day of my life* I breathe again. I 
know now I have never breathed until this 
moment sinee the day I married you ! 

Lady Flo : This is beyond everything ! 
( Violently excited.) 

Jem (whispers aside fo Kitty, unobserved; 
play on both sides; then f after evident/}' 
agreeing on a plan 7 pretend to treat the matter 
as a Joke; advancing): Bravo ! Bravissimo ! 
Capita/ 1 (Roars with forced laughter.) 

Kitty : Splendid ! I never saw anything 
SO well done ! (Joins her husband in laughter.) 

Sir W» : It's no laughing matter! 


Enter Porter : Her ladyship has bidden 
me to put her trunks together, ma'am. 

Kitty : Wait a minute, Porter. Perhaps 
I can persuade her ladyship to stay. ( Voices 
from -without) 

Jem : Ha ! ha ! I daresay not. 
Kitty : Irving and Ellen Terry are not 
in it ! (Continues laughing,) 

Vol. V*— £♦ 



uncle have not been getting up this little 
comedy of a quarrel, merely to show Kitty 
and me what fools we look when we are 
fighting ! Why ! It was better than any play 
I ever saw ! 

Sir W. : It's all been in sober earnest, 
I assure you. 
(Lady Flo recovers slightly. Looks first at Jem, 

then at Kitty, and lastly at Sir William.) 

Lady Flo (slowly): You call — all — this 
— a little comedy ? (Recovers more, but very 

* Kitty : Why, yes ! Don't attempt to say 
it wasn't — (slyly) —especially after all you 
told me this morning about how cleverly 
you manage my uncle. Just let me see you 
glance at him in the way you said you could. 
( Whispering) 
(Lady Flo further recovers . herself . Her 

expression softens. After a minute or two 

she smiles meaningly to herself) 

Jem : Now, Uncle Will, do finish off 
by pretending to make up the quarrel ! 
There's my aunt waiting with her smile 
already ! 

Sir W. (stupidly): Pretend to make up 
the quarrel ? 

Lady Flo (suddenly radiant) : Why, yes ! 
You silly old goose ! Don't you see the fun ? 
Pretend to give me a kiss at once. (They 

Jem and Kitty (aside) : That's a comfort 
(They walk up stage.) 

Lady Flo (aside to Sir William) : I can 
see you are dying to make amends for all 
you have just said ! 

Sir W. : I don't deny that I may be ! 

Lady Flo : Then tell me what it was you 
were concocting with Jem ! There's an old 
dear ! 

Sir W. : Since we are all good friends 
again I don't mind telling you Jem was 
confiding his little troubles to me. 

Lady Flo : But you had already found 
them out ! 

Sir W. : And also that there was a possi- 
bility of a separation ! 

Lady Flo : Silly children ! 

Sir W. : Had you not at once flown into 
a rage, I should have broken my promise to 
Jem, and have told you all ! 

Lady Flo : That was quite right of you. 
(They walk up stage, amicably, arm-in-arm. 
Jem and Kitty walk to centre.) 

Jem : You will find me ready dressed to 
start for eight o'clock matins, to-morrow 

morning, Kitty ! 

Kitty : Oh ! 
to ask of you ! 

Jem : Not at 

That's very much too much 

all ! Providing you won't 
insist on going out with the guns. 

Kitty : I shall only wish what you wish 
from this day forward, dearest Jem ! 

Jem : That's all right ! (They kiss, laugh- 
ingly, as the curtain descends. Lady Flo 
and Sir William look on smiling.) 

by Google 

Original from 

UCH birds as, having wings, fly 
not, preferring to walk, to run, 
or to waddle, as legs and 
other circumstances may 
permit or compel — 
these are the oirsores 
such birds also as, 
having no wings, or 
none to speak of, run 
by compulsion on such 
legs as they may 
muster. These are 
many — so many that I 
almost repent me of the heading to this chapter, wherein I 
may speak only of the struthiones among the cursores — the 
curious cassowary, the quaint kiwi, the raucous rhea, the errant 
emeu, and the overtopping ostrich. But the heading is there- 
Let Mt standi ; for in the naigfrj^ifrfrofflrsores * see t ^ xe raw 
material ^ I fciany sad jolf|q^^l^^ifJ*^^j^pmy I may never 
be templed* but may leave ' them for an easy exercise for 



such as have set out upon the shameless career of the 
irreclaimable pun-flinger. 

It was some time — years — before I got rid of the 
impression left upon me by the first ostrich with which 
I became acquainted. He lived in an old picture- 
book, and would nowadays be considered quite out 
of fashion by up-to-date ostriches, having webbed feet 
and an improper number of toes. I like to believe 
that feet of this sort were popular among ostriches at 
that time, being loath to destroy early beliefs. From 
the same cause, I have other little private super- 
stitions about the ostrich ; there was no ostrich, so 
far as I can remember^ in my Noah's ark, whence I 
derive my conviction that the species cannot have 
existed at the time of the Deluge, but has been 
evolved, in the succeeding centuries, by a gradual 
approach and assimilation of the several characteristics 
of the camel and the goose* 

The two ostriches here, at the Zoo, have no pet 
names bestowed on them by the keepers- This 
is inconvenient, not to say unfair. They have been 
placed, it will be observed, in the stables hitherto 
occupied by the late lamented giraffes. It is a 
striking and notable instance of care and the sense 
of fitness of things on the part of the Society, These 
stables, they probably reflected, have all along been 
fitted with tenants twenty feet high — queer tenants, which were often called camelopards. 
We can't replace these with similar tenants, unfortunately, but we will do our best with 
animals as high as possible and with all available neck ; and they shall be camel-geese; And 
here they are ; a few feet short, una^oiiably, but as high as pcssible; quite the equivalent 
of the giraffes so far as concerns the cam il, and as much superior as one may consider a goose 
to a leopard. And here you may stand and watch them, or sit And you may watch, if you 

please, for the coming of the giraffes 
which the Society are now anxious to 
buy, or for the wandering wraiths of 
those dead, dispossessed, and in- 
dignant, Meantime invent- 
ing names for the two 
camel-geese — let us say 
and Pontius 


'".^ Sv, ^'DIAlT^I^^I# i »^> 





a I like to stand by Atkinson till he dozes. Atkinson is a fine, big fellow, 

E^^w anc ^ w "hen ^ e squats down his head is in a convenient position for observation. 
* ^J Presently he gapes; then his eyes shut, and his beak droops — just a very little* 

Then the beak droops a little more, and signs of insecurity appear about the 

neck. Very soon a distinct departure from the vertical 
is visible in that neck ; it melts down ruinously till 
almost past recovery, and then suddenly springs erect, 
carrying an open-eyed head, wherefrom darts a look 
of indignant repudiation of any disposition to fall 
asleep ; and so keeps until the eyes close again, I 
have waited long, but have 
never seen Atkinson fall 
permanently asleep, 

The possibilities of the 
ostrich are not properly 
recognised. He is domes- 
ticated, and bred with the utmost ignominy in 
a poultry run, and his tail is pulled out with 
impunity. I am not quite sure that he 
habitually figures on South African dinner 
tables with his legs skewered to his ribs, but 
he has fallen quite low enough for that ■ 
submitting even to the last indignity 
of being hatched out by a common 
stove incubator. Now, the elephant has 
also been domesticated, but he has also been allowed to 
adopt a profession. He dances on a tub and rides a 
tricycle at a circus. Nothing of this sort has been 
attempted with the ostrich, but much might be done. He 
would make a first-rate bicyclist, and could get through 
much of the business of the "eccentric comedian." A 
couple of them would go to make a capital knockabout act. 
High kicks of the very highest, floor-strides of the very 
longest — and there would be a world of opportunities in 
the neck. No end of possibilities lie in the neck— even 
the " legitimate." You could run in a forty-minute sketch, 
wherein two long-separated but faithful lovers should fall 
against each other and wind their necks about together like 
a caduceus, or barley -sugar — or anything. Also the camel- 
goose might fling his neck about the villain, and strangle him. 
But perhaps, after all, variety business would suit best 
Pontius Pilate in a kilt and philibeg would bring down the 
house with a Highland fling or gillie callum. And Atkinson 
in a long-stride table chair and banjo act would be comforting 

to the perceptions. 

Whether the ostrich 

is actually such an ass 

as to hide his head with 

a notion of concealing 

imself I don't quite know, 

is certiinly a deal of ass in the camel^oose. A 
Hottentot will put an ostrich skin over his 
head, and walking with his natural shanks 
exposed get among an ostrich family and kill 
them off one after another, to the family's 
astonishment. Now, a bird who mistakes a 
nigger with sr. oiasrtc for an intimate relation 
plainly | Hpdj^Xf A foM I ME Opposition ■ a large 
flavour of the ass. Not knowing it, however, 




the camel-goose is just as 
happy, and neither ex- 
periences the bitterness of 
being sold nor the sweet- 
ness of selling. 1 don't 
believe that Atkinson was 
even aware of the trium- 
phant sell which he lately 
assisted in administering to 
Mr. Toots, the cat from the 

The cat in the ostrich- 
bouse is a sly fellow, and I 
believe he knows why there 
are fewer pigeons in the 
roof of the hippopotamus- 
house thdn there were* 
He horribly sold Mr, Toots, 
who was anxious to have 
a snack of poultry himself, 
for a change. "In my 
house/' said this bold, bad 
cat, *' there are the biggest 
pigeons you ever saw. Go 
in and try one, while I look 
out for the keeper." And 
the trustful Mr. Toots went 
in; and when, full of a 
resolve to make it hot for 
everything feathered in that 
house, Mr. loots bounced 
into the presence of Atkin- 
son, who is rather more 
than seven feet high, he 
came out anxious for the 
scalp of that other cat I 
never mention this little 
adventure to Mr. Toots, 
who is sensitive, but all the 
other Zoo cats chaff him 
terribly. Even Jung Per- 
chad and the other elephants 
snigger quietly as they pass, 
and Bob the Bactrian, from 
the camel-house, laughs out- 
right ; it is a horrid, coarse, 
vulgar, exasperating laugh, 
that of Bob's, Atkinson, 
however, is all unconscious 
of the joke, and remains 
equally affable to cats, 
pigeons, and human beings* 

Pontius Pilate is just the 
sort of camel-gander that 
would bury its head to hide 
itself. Pontius Pilate is, I 
fear, an ass; also a snob. 
He has a deal of curiosity 
with regard to Atkinson, 


who is a recent arrival, and 
lately belonged to the 
Queen. Also, he is often 
disposed to pay a visit — 
with his head — to Atkin- 
son's quarters, and take a 
friendly snack — at Atkin- 
son's expense ; this by an 
insinuation of the neck out 
between his own bars and 
in between those of Atkin- 
son, adjoining. But he 
doesn't understand the laws 
of space. Having once 
fetched his neck around 
the partition Into Atkinson's 
larder by chancing to poke 
his head through the 
end bars, he straightway 
assumes that what is pos- 
sible between some bars 
is possible between all; 
and wheresoever he may 
now be standing when 
prompted by companion- 
able peckishness, straight 
he plunges among the 
nearest bars, being mightily 
astonished at his inability 
to reach next door, if by 
chance he have dropped 
among bars far from Atkin- 
son's. He suspects his 
neck. Is the ungrateful 
tube playing him false? 
Maliciously shortening ? 
Or are his eyes concerned 
in fraud? He loops his 
head back among his own 
adjoining bars, with a vague 
suspicion that they may be 
Atkinson's after all; and he 
stretches and struggles des- 
perately. S om e day Pontius 
Pilate will weave himself 
among those bars, basket 
fashion, only to be extri- 
cated by a civil engineer 
and a practical smith, 
Pontius Piiate is the sort 
of camel - gander that 
damages the intellectual 
reputation of the species. 
Of course he would bury 
his head to hide himself. 
Equally of course he 
I would muzzle himself to 
Vyou from biting 
tie his legs together 



to prevent you from running and catching him, or any- 
thing else equally clever. Pontius Pilate, I have known 
you long — even loved you, in a way. But I have ob- 
served you closely, and though, like Dogberry, you may 
have everything fine about you, I am impelled sor- 
rowfully to write you down an ass. 

The ostrich is one of those birds whose whole com- 
niand of facial expression is carried in the neck. He 
can only express himself through his features by offering 
you different views of his head. This is a great dis- 
advantage. It limits the range, You may express 
three sentiments by the back, front, and side of the 
head, and something by way of combination in 
a three-quarter face. Then you stop, and have 
no further resource than standing on your head, 
one of the few things an ostrich is not clever 
at. But with such materials as he has, the 
ostrich does very well. Observe, his mouth is 
long, and droops at the corners ; but the 
corners are wide apart, for there the head is 

Now you may present simple drama by the 

aid of this mouth — suitably disposed and 

ordered by the neck. Take Atkinson, here, 


whose beak has 
certain tip - tinting 
distrusted of the tee- 
totaler. Bend his 
head (only in theory, 
because Atkinson 
won't stand any prac- 
tical nonsense) — 
bend his head to look 
downward, and let 
his netk wilt away 
sleepily. Now, viewed 
from the side, where 
is a more lamentable 
picture of maudlin 
intoxication ? What could improve it, except, per- 
haps, a battered hat, worn lop-sided, and a cigar- 
stump ? He is a drunken old camel-gander, coming 
home in the small hours, and having difficulties with 
his latch-key. Straighten Atkinson's neck, open wide 
his eyes, and take a threenquarter face view of him. 
Sober, sour, and indignant, there stands, not the 
inebriated Atkinson, but the disturbed Mrs. 
Atkinson on the stairs, with a candle, and a nightcap^ and a 
lecture. That awful mouth actually conjures that candle, that 
nightcap, and that lecture into existence — you see and hear 
them more clearly than you do Atkinson, although they are not 
there, But this is an advanced exercise in struthian expression — a 
complicated feat, involving various and complex elements* 
There is the neck -wilt and the bending of the head ; also tht* 
three-quarter face, not a simple element. 

The plain and elementary principles of struthian expression 
lie in the mere front and side views. The third simple view, 
the back, is not particularly eloquent, although pra 
do something even for that. At the side the ostric 

rich is glum, / 



savage, m i sa n t hro pi cal, d e p resse d — w hat 

you will of that sort Let him but turn 

and face you — he can't help a genial grin* 

All done by the versatile neck, you 

observe, which gives the head its position, 
Man, instigated by woman, has a habit 

of pulling out the camel -gander's tail 

This ruins the appearance of the site of 

that tail, without covmnunsurately improv- 
ing the head whereunto the tail is trans- 
planted — an unprofitable game of heads 

and tails, wherein tails lose and heads 

don't win. Even the not over clever 

ostrich knows better than to wear those 

feathers on the wrong end. Perhaps he 

knows that he is enough of a fool already. 
There is a deal of hidden interest about 

the ostrich's neck. It is the cleverest piece 

of an ostrich — unless you count his 

stomach ; and even in the triumphs of the 

stomach the neck takes a great share. 
When a camel-goose lunches off a box of dominoes, or a sack of nails, or a basketful of 
broken bottles, there is quite as much credit in the feat due to the neck as to the stomach ; 
with anybody else all the difficulties of that lunch would begin with the neck — even a thicker 
neck. Parenthetically, one remembers that the ostrich's neck is not always thin. Catch 
Atkinson here in a roaring soliloquy, and you shall see his red neck distended as a bladder, with 
a mighty grumbling and grunting. This by the way. The neck makes nothing of the domino 
difficulty, or the tenpenny nail difficulty, or the door-knob difficulty, or the broken bottle 
difficulty — which are not difficulties to the camel-goose. On the contrary, the neck revels in 
them and keeps the dainties as long as possible. Give Pontius Pilate, or Atkinson — I am 
quite impartial — an apple. When he swallows it you shall see it, in a bulge, pass along 
and round his neck ; down it goes and backward, in a 
gradual curve, until it disappears among the feathers— 



corkscrews, in fact 
this demonstration. 


Observe, I recommend an apple for 
Dominoes and clinkers are all very 
well, but they rattle about inside, 
and disturb the visitors ; and with 
an apple you will the more plainly 
observe that corkscrew. 

Not satisfied, you perceive, with 
enjoying his domino or his door- 
knob all the way along 
that immense neck, the 
camel-gander must needs 
indulge in a spiral gullet 
It is mere gluttony. 
Especially is it wicked of 
Atkinson, who has already the 
longest bird nock in all these 
gardens. Look at the necks of 
all the cursores. The poor little 
wingless kiwi, with a mere nothing 
of a neck — for a cursors He 
does without a spiral gullet. The festive 
cassowary — which, by -t he-bye, doesn't abound 
—or exist — on the plains of Tirnbuctoo, as the 
rhyme says — the festive cassowary, I say, 
wears his gullet plain. The rusty rhea takes 
things below with perfect directness).^' The ^-i!U), 




lordly emeu gets his dinner down as 
quickly as the length of his neck will 
permit. It is only when one reaches 
the top of the cursorean thermometer, 
all among the boilings, so to speak, 
that the ostrichj with the longest neck 
of all, must poach another few inches 
by going in for a spiral. Pontius Pilate 
is bad enough, but a spiral for Atkin- 
son ! — well, there ! 

The partiality of the struthians for 
eccentric refreshments — clinkers, nut- 
crackers, and the like— leads many to 
a superstition that these things are as 
nourishing as they arc attractive. 
They're not. Certain liberal asses 
have a curious habit of presenting 
the birds with halfpence, I scarcely 
understand why, unless modern en- 
vironments have evolved penny-in- 
the-slotomaniacs. And I am prepared 
to bet that on occasions they are less 
generous with their pence. Never- 
theless, they do it, and it kills the 
birds. One cassowary who died 
recently was found to contain one and 
eightpence in copper, I suggest that 
in future the experimentalizes con- 
fine their contributions to bank- 
notes, I have taken the trouble to 
ascertain that these will do no harm 
while their disappearance w T ill affcid 
an additional enjoyment to the con- 
tributors commensurate with their 
higher value. 

Perhaps there is something in thu 
habits of the cassowary himself that 
explains these offerings. The casso- 
wary always comes to meet you at the 
bars with a look of grave inquiry. 


If you offer no tribute he turns off, 
with many cockings of the beak, 
surprised, indignant, and contemp- 
tuous. Very few people can endure 
this. They hastily produce anything 
they have — anything to conciliate 
the contemptuous cassowary. And as 
he takes it, an expression steals across 
the cassowary's face which seems to 
admit that perhaps the fellow isn't 
such a shocking outsider after all 
When a man has nothing more nutri- 
tive about him, this form of extor- 
tion may produce halfpence. 

The rhea is small potatoes beside 
the ostrich — merely a smaller and 
dingier camel-gander. But the emeu 
is a fine upstanding fellow, with his 
haughty sailing head and his great 
feather boa. 

He is a friendly and inquisitive 
chap, and will come stalking down 
to the wires to inspect you. If you 
like to walk up and down outside his 
inclosure he will take a turn with 
yotij walking at your side and turning 
when you do, He is justly proud of 
his height and his ruff, but there is 
nothing objectionably haughty about 
the emeu ; I have always found him 
ready for a quiet chat He will eat 
various things, like the ostrich ; so 
that one regards him with a certain 
respect j not to say awe, for there is 
no telling what wonderful things may 
or may not be inside him. The 
biggest and handsomest emeu here 
is my particular friend. When he 
talks to you or walks by your side 
he is very fine ; but when he walks 


1 00 we 



Vol. v.— 6 . 

4 3 


about a little way off, with his head to the ground, 

foraging, he looks rather like a tortoise on stilts, 

which is not imposing, Sometimes, when he thinks 

nobody is looking, he rushes madly up and down 

his territory by way of 

relieving his pent-up 

feelings, stopping very 

suddenly and looking 

cautiously about to 

assure himself that 

nobody saw him* I 

call this emeu Grim- 

aldi ; firstly, because 

Grimaldi is rather a 

fine name, and secondly, 

because when onca you 

have had a view of his 

head from the back you 

can't call him anything 


The most extraordi- 
nary bird in the world 
is the kiwi. But it is 
not the most extra- 
ordinary bird seen by 
visitors to the Zoo, 

because they never see it The kiwi buries itself 
asleep all day, and only comes out in the night 
to demolish an unpleasant and inconvenient 
proverb. The kiwi is the latest of all the birds, 
but catches the most worms. For this let us honour the kiwi, and hurl him in the face 
of the early risers. He stamps about the ground in the dark night, and the worm, being 
naturally a fool, as even the proverb demonstrates, comes up to investigate, and is at 
once cured of early rising for ever The kiwi, having no wings (unless you count a bit 







of cartilage an inch or so long, buried under the 
down), has the appearance of running 
about with his hands in his pockets 
because of the cold. And being 
covered with something more like 
hair than feathers, is a deal more like 
a big rat than a bird of any sort. 
Indeed, I don't believe the kiwi him- 
self has 

made up his mind 
which to be* Before 
he decides he will pro- 
bably become extinct Any glimpse his friends have of him 
here is short. Suddenly brought out into the day, he stands 

for a moment, and 

blinks ; then he puts 
his beak up and his 
legs apart, and 

there is a black 

streak and 

heap of straw 

where it 


by Google 

Original from 

One and Two. 

By Walter Besant. 


ELL ! " cried the boy, jump- 
ing about, unable to stand 
still far excitement. "It is 
splendid ! He has told me 
such things as I never 
dreamed. Oh ? splendid 

things ! Wonderful things ! " 
"Tell me, Will." 
"I am ashamed. 

Well, then, he 

says — he says" — 

the boy's face be- 
came crimson — 

"he says that I 

can become what- 
ever I please, if 

I please. It is all 

in me — all — all ! 

If I want to be a 

statesman — I 

may* If I want 

to become a 

judge — I may. 

If I should like 

to be a bishop — 

I may. If a great 

scholar — a great 

writer — I may. 

All, he says, is 

possible for me, 

if I choose to 

work — all — if I 

choose to work* 

Oh! Nell— isn't 

it— isn't it won- 
derful?" He 

dropped his voice, 

and his eyes 

glistened — his 

large dreamy eyes 

— and his cheeks 

glowed. " If I 

choose to work. 

As if I should not choose to work ! 

Only those fellows who have got no such 

glorious prospects are lazy. Work? Why, 

I am mad to work. I grudge every hour. 

Work ? You shall see how I will work ! " 
He was a lad of seventeen, handsome, tall 
nd straight; his eyes were full and limpid; 

"it is splendid J" 

his face was a long oval, his mouth delicate 
and fine, but perhaps not quite so firm as 
might have been desired. At this moment 
he had just held a conference with his 
private tutor. It took the form of a re- 
monstrance and an explanation* The 
remonstrance pointed out that his work was 
desultory and liable to be interrupted at any 

moment, for any r 
caprice: that 
steady grind was 
incompatible with 
the giving away 
of whole mornings 
to musical dreams 
at the piano, or 
to rambles in the 
woods, a book of 
poetry in hand. 
The explanation 
was to the effect 
that the great 
prizes of the world 
are all within the 
reach of every 
clever lad who 
starts with a suffi- 
ciency of means 
and is not afraid 
of work; and that 
he himself — none 
other — possessed 
abilities which 
would justify him 
in aiming at the 
very highest. But 
he must work ; he 
must work : he 
had been to no 
school and k new- 
nothing of com- 
petitions with 
other fellows : he 
must make up for 
that by hard grind. Think what it may mean to 
a young fellow of imagination and of dreams, 
this throwing open of the gates of the Temple 
of Ambition — this invitation to mountt he steps 
and enter that great and glittering dome. The 
templej|mth^ifi|^l,igtoTiws with crowns of 
gold sec with ^reciousstones and with crowns 



of bay and laurel. Day and night ascends a 
hymn in praise of the living ; they them- 
selves — the living who have succeeded — sit 
on thrones of carved woodwork precious 
beyond price, and hear and receive this 
homage all day long This lad, only by 
looking in at the open doors, gasped, and 
blushed, and panted ; his colour came and 
went, his heart beat ; he could not stand 

His companion — they were in a country 
garden, and it was the spring of the year — 
was a girl of fifteen, who hung upon his 
words and adored him. Some women begin 
the voluntary servitude to the man they love 
at a very early age indeed. Nelly at fifteen 
loved this boy of seventeen as much as if 
they had both been ten years older. 

" Yes," she said, timidly, and the manner 
of her saying it betrayed certain things. 
" And you will work, Will, won't you ? " 

41 Work ? Nell, since your father has 
spoken those words of encouragement, I feel 
that there is nothing but work left in me — 
regular work — methodical, systematic work, 
you know. Grind, grind, grind! No more 
music, no more singing, no more making 
rhymes — grind, grind, grind! I say, Nell, 
I've always dreamed, you know " 

" You have, Will." 

"And to find that things may actually 
come true — actually — the finest things that 
ever I dared to dream — oh ! " 

" It is wonderful, Will ! " Both of them 
began to think that the finest things had 
already been achieved. 

" It is like having your fortune doubled — 
trebled— multiplied by ten. Better. If my 
fortune were multiplied by fifty I could spend 
no more, I could eat no more, I believe 
I could do no more with it." 

" Genius," said the girl, blushing, because 
it really did seem an original thing to say, 
" is better than riches." 

"It is, it is," the possessor of genius 
replied, with conviction. " To have enough 
is to have all. I can, if I please, become 
a bishop, a judge, a statesman — anything, 
anything. Nell," his voice dropped, "the 
thought makes me tremble. I feel as if I 
shall not be equal to the position. There is 
personal dignity, you know." 

The girl laughed. " You not equal, Will ? 
Why, you are strong enough for anything." 

" I have made up my mind what to do first 
of all. When I go to Cambridge I shall 
take up classics. Of course I must take the 
highest classical honours. I shall carry off 
all the University scholarships, and the 

medals, and the prizes. Oh ! and I must 
speak at the Union. I must lead at the 
Union, and I must be an athlete." He was 
tall and thin, and he stretched out his long 
arms. " I shall row in the boat — the 'Varsity 
boat, of course. I shall play in the Eleven." 

"Oh, Will, you are too ambitious." 

"No man," he said, severely, "can be too 
ambitious. I would grasp all. I must sweep 
the board." 

"And then?" 

" Ah ! There, I have not yet decided. 
The Church, to raise the world. The Law, 
to maintain the social order. The House, 
to rule the nation. Literature, Science, Art 

" In whatever you do, Will, you are certain 
to rise to the front rank." 

" Certain. Your father says so. Oh ! I 
feel as if I was already Leader of the House. 
It is a splendid thing to rule the House. I 
feel as if I was Lord Chancellor in my robes 
— on the woolsack. Nothing so grand as 
to be Lord Chancellor. I feel as if I was 
Archbishop of Canterbury. It is a most 
splendid thing, mind you, to be Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury. What could be 
more splendid ? He wears lawn sleeves, and 
he sits in the House of Lords. But I must 
work. The road to all these splendid things, 
as your father says, is through work. It 
wants an hour yet to dinner. I will give 
that hour to Euripides. No more waste of 
time for me, Nell." 

He nodded his head and ran into the 
house, eager not to lose a moment. 

The girl looked after him admiringly and 
fondly. " Oh ! " she murmured ; " what a 
splendid thing to be a man and to become 
Archbishop, and Lord Chancellor, and 
Leader of the House ! Oh ! how clever 
he is, and how great he will become ! " 

"I've had a serious talk with Challice 
to-day," said the private tutor to his wife 
in the evening. 

" Will is such a nice boy," said the wife. 
" What a pity that he won't work ! " 

" He's got enough money to begin with, 
and he has never been to a public school. 
I have been firing his imagination, however, 
with the rich and varied prospect before a 
boy who really will work and has brains. He 
is a dreamer; he has vague ambitions; perhaps 
I may have succeeded in fixing them. But 
who knows ? He is a dreamer. He plays 
the piano and listens to the music. Some- 
times he makes verses. Who knows wliat 

I I TL/H/l \\T\ JJT1 1 P 1-1 1 J\ I I 

such a lad may do ? " 

4 6 



Two years later, the same pair stood in the 
same place at the same season of the year. 
Term was over — the third term of the first 
year at Cambridge. 

" I haven't pleased your father/ 1 said the 
young man — he was slight and boyish-looking 
still, but on his face there was a new stamp- 
he had eaten of the tree of knowledge, " I 
have won no scholarships and taken no prizes. 
My grand ideas about University laurels are 
changed* You see, Nell, I have discovered 
that unless one goes into the Church a good 
degree helps nobody. And, of course, it 
ruins a man in other 
ways to put in nil the 
time working for a 

M You know," said 
Nell, "we don't think 
so here." 

i( I know. Then you 
see I had to make the 
acquaintance of the 
men and to show them 
that I was a person 
of — of some import- 
ance, A man who can 
play and sing is always 
useful We are an ex- 
tremely social College, 
and the — the friction 
of mind with mind, 
know — it is the 
educat i on possi bl e 
a man — I'm sure 
-much better than 
poring over Plato* 
Then I found so many 
things in which I was 
deficient French fic- 
tion, for example ; and 
I knew so very little 
about Art — oh ! I have passed a most 
busy and useful time." 

He forgot to mention such little things 
as nap, hartS, loo, billiards, Paris, and 
London, as forming part of his education* 
Yet everybody will own that these are 
important elements in the forming of a 

u I see," said Nell 

" But your father won't. He is all for the 
Senate House, You do take a little interest 
in me still, Nell ? Just a little interest — in 
an old friend ? " 

11 Of course I do, Will," She blushed and 
dropped her eyes. Their fingers touched, 
hut only for a moment The touching of 




fingers is very innocent Perhaps it was 

"Nell," said the young man, with deep 
feeling and earnestness, " whatever I do— to 
whatever height I rise, I shall always feel — " 
here he stopped because he could hardly 
say that she had stimulated him or inspired 
him — "always feel, Nell, that it began here 
— it began here." He looked about the 
garden, "On this spot I first resolved to 
become a great man. It was on the very 
day when your father told me that I might 
be great if I chose ; of course, I knew so 
much before* but it pleased me; it stimulated 
me* I told you here, 
on this spot, and you 
approved and cheered 
me on. Well, I don't, 
of course, tell any of 
the men about my 
ambitions. Mostly, I 
suppose, they have got 
their own. Some of 
them, I know, don't 
soar above a country 
living — I laugh in my 
sleeve, Nell, when I 
listen to their con- 
fessions — a country 
living — a house and a 
garden and a church; 
that is a noble am- 
bition, truly ! I laugh, 
Nell, when I think of 
what I could tell them ; 
the rapid upward climb; 
the dizzy height, the 
grasp of power and of 
authority !" 

He spoke very 
grandly, and waved his 
hand and threw his 
head back and looked 
every inch a leader — one round whom the 
soldiers of a holy cause would rally. The 
girl's eyes brightened and her cheek glowed, 
even though she remembered what at that 
moment she would rather have forgotten : the 
words of her father at breakfast, " Challice 
has done nothing," he said, " he has at- 
tempted nothing; now he will never do 
anything. It is just as I expected. A 
dreamer ! A dreamer ! " 

"It was here," Will continued, "that I 
resolved on greatness. It was on this spot 
that I imparted my ambition to you. Nell, 
on this spot 1 again impart to you my 
choice, fj^^^ statesman, 

I have money" to" start "me— most fellows 



have to spend the best part of their lives in 
getting money enough to give them a start. 
I shall be the Leader of the House. Mind, 
to anyone but you this ambition would seem 
presumptuous. It is my secret which I trust 
with you, NelL" He caught her hands, 
drew her gently, and kissed her on the fore- 
head. li Dear Nell," he said, " long before 
my ambition is realized, you will be by my 
side, encouraging, and advising, and con- 

He spoke as a young man should; and 
tenderly, as a lover should; but there was 
something not right — a secret thorn — some- 
thing jarred. In the brave words — In the 
tender tones — there was a touch, a tone, a 
look, out of harmony. Will Challice could not 
tell his mistress that all day long there was a 
voice within him crying : " Work, work ! 
Get up and work ! All this is folly! Work t 
Nothing can be done without work — work — 
work ! n 

It was about the beginning of the 
Michaelmas term that the very remarkable 
occurrences or series of occurrences began 
which are the cause and origin of this 
history. Many men have failed and many 
have succeeded. Will Challice is> perhaps, 
the only man who has ever done both, and in 
the same line and at the 
same time. The thing 
came upon him quite 
suddenly and unex- 
pectedly* It was at two 
in the morning ; he had 
spent the evening quietly 
in the society of three 
other men and two packs 
of cards. His own rooms, 
he observed as he crossed 
the court, were lit up — 
he wondered how his 
"gyp" could have been so 
careless* He opened his 
door and entered his 
room. Heavens ! At the 
table, on which the lamp 
was burning, sat before 
a pile of books — himself ! 
Challice rubbed his eyes ; 
he was not frightened ; 
there is nothing to alarm 
a man in the sight of 
himself, though sometimes 
a good deal to disgust ; 
but if you saw, in a 
looking-glass, your own 
face and figure doing 

something ehe^ you would be astonished : you 
might even be alarmed. Challice had heard 
of men seeing rats, circles, triangles, even — he 
thought of his misspent evenings which were 
by no means innocent of whisky and potash: 
he concluded that this must be an Appear- 
ance, to be referred, like the rats and 
circles, to strong drinL He thought that it 
would vanish as he gazed. 

It did not : on the contrary, it became, if 
anything, clearer- There was a reading lamp 
on the table which threw a strong circle of 
light upon the bent head of the reader. Then 
Will Challice began to tremble and his knees 
gave way. The clock ticked on the mantel- 
shelf: else there was no sound: the College 
was wrapped and lapped in the silence of 

He nerved himself : he stepped forwards. 
** Speak, 7i he cried, and the sound of 
his own voice terrified him. Who ever 
heard of a man questioning himself in 
the dead of night? "Speak — What does 
this mean ? " 

Then the reader lifted his head, placed a 
book-mark to keep his place, and turned 
slowly in his chair — one of those wooden 
chairs the seat of which turns round, Yes — 
it was himself — his own face that met the face 
of the returned reveller. But there was no 




terror in that face — a serious resolve, rather 
— a set purpose — grave eyes. He, the 
reader, leaned back in his chair and crossed 
his legs. 

" Yes," he said, and the voice again 
startled the other man. " You have a right — 
a complete right — to an explanation. I 
have felt for a long time that something 
would have to be done; I've been going on 
in a most uncomfortable manner. In spite 
of my continual remonstrances, I could not 
persuade you to work. You must have 
recognised that you contained two men : the 
one indolent, dreamy, always carried away 
by the pleasures or caprice of the moment — 
a feather-brain. The other: ambitious, clear- 
headed, and eager for work. Your part 
would give my part no chance. Very well ; 
we are partly separated. That is all. Partly 

The dreamer sat down and stared. "I 
don't understand," he said. 

" No more time will be lost," the worker 
went on. " I have begun to work. For 
some time past I have been working at 
night — I am not going to stand it any 

"That's what made me so heavy in the 
morning, then ? " 

" That was the cause. Now, however, I am 
going to work in earnest, and all day long." 

" I don't care, if it's real ; but this is a 
dream. I don't care so long as I needn't 
work with you. But, I say, what will the 
men say? I can't pretend to have a twin, 
all of a sudden." 

"N — no. Besides, there are other diffi- 
culties. We belong to each other, you see, 
We must share these rooms. Listen, I have 
quite thought it out. At night we shall be 
one ; at breakfast and in the Hall we will be 
one; you shall give me the entire use of these 
rooms all day and all the evening for work. 
In examinations of course you will remain 
here locked in, while I go to the Senate 
House. You will go to chapel for both." 

" N — no. Chapel must belong to you." 

"I say you will go to chapel for both." 
This with resolution. 

11 Oh ! " the other Half gave way. " But 
what am I to do all day ? " 

"I'm sure I don't know. Do what you 
like. If you like to stay here you can. You 
may play or sing. You may read your 
French novels ; you will not disturb me. 
But if you bring any of your friends here it 
will be awkward, because they will perceive 
that you are double. Now we will go to bed. 
It is half-past two." 

In the morning Will awoke with a strange 
sense of something. This feeling of some- 
thing is not uncommon with young gentlemen 
who go to bed about three. He got up and 
dressed. A cup of tea made him remember 
but imperfectly what had happened. " I 
must have had too much whisky," he 
murmured. " I saw myself — actually myself 
— hard at work." Here his eyes fell upon 
the table. There were the books — books on 
Political Economy — with a note-book and 
every indication of work. More ; he knew, 
he remembered, the contents of these books. 
He sat down bewildered. Then it seemed 
as if there was a struggle within him as of 
two who strove for mastery. " Work ! " cried 
one. "I won't," said the other. "You 
shall." " I won't." A most ignoble quarrel, 
yet it pulled him this way and that towards 
the table or back in the long easy chair. 
Finally the struggle ended : he fell back ; he 
closed his eyes. When he opened them 
again, the room was cleared of the breakfast 
things, and he saw himself sitting at the table 
hard at work. 

" Good gracious ! " he cried, springing to 
his feet. " Is what I remember of last night 
real? Not a dream !" 

11 Not a dream at all. I will no longer 
have my career blasted at the outset by your 
confounded laziness. I think you under- 
stand me perfectly. I am clear of you 
whenever I please. I join you when I 

" Oh ! And have I the same power ?" 

u You ? Certainly not. You are only 
the Half that won't work. You have got no 
power at all." 

" Oh ! Well— I shall not stand that." 

" You can't help yourself. I am the 
Intellectual Principle ; mine is the Will : 
mine is the clear head and the authority." 

" What am I, then ? " 

" You ? I don't know. You are me — 
yourself — without the Intellectual Principle. 
That is what you are. I must define you 
by negatives. You cannot argue, or reason, 
or create, or invent : you remember like 
an animal from assistance : you behave 
nicely because you have been trained : 
you are — in short — you are the Animal 

" Oh ! " He was angry : he did not know 
what to reply : he was humiliated. 

" Don't fall into a rage. Go away and 
amuse yourself. You can do anything you 

S?,- iNmBtfSEifeir^ in time for 



The Animal Part obeyed. He went out 
leaving the other Part over his books. He 
spent the morning with other men as indus- 
triously disposed as himself. He found a 
strange lightness of spirits. There was no 
remonstrating voice within him reproaching 
him for his laziness, urging him to get up and 
go to work. Not at all ; that voice was silent ; 
he was left quite undisturbed. He talked 
with these men over tobacco; he played 
billiards with them j he lay in a chair and 
looked at a novel. He had luncheon and 
beer, and more tobacco. 
He went down the river 
in the college boatj he 
had an hour or two of 
whist before Hall, Then 
he returned to his room. 

His other Half looked 
up, surprised. 

"Already ? The day 
has flown." 

"One moment," said 
Will, u before we go in. 
You're a serious sort, you 
know, and I'm one of 
the — the lighter orna- 
ments of the College, 
and I sit among them. 
It would be awkward 
breaking off all at once. 
Besides " 

" I understand. Con- 
tinue to sit with them for 
awhile, and talk as much 
idiotic stuff as you please. 
Presently you will find 
that a change of com- 
panions and of conver- 
sation has become 

Nobody noticed any 
change ; the two in one 
sat at table and ate like 
one ■ they talked like 
one ; they talked frivolously, telling stories 
like one. After Hall they went back to 
their chambers, 

u You can leave me/' said the student 
" I shall rest for an hour or so. Then I 
shall go on again," 

This very remarkable arrangement went 
on undisturbed for some time. No one sus- 
pected it. No one discovered it. It became 
quite natural for Challice to go out of his 
room in the morning and to leave himself at 
work \ it became natural to go down to Hall 
at seven with a mingled recollection of work 
and amusements, The reproaching voice 

was silent the Animal Part was left at peace, 

and the Intellectual Part went on reading at 


One evening, however, going across the 

court at midnight, Will met the tutor, 

"Challice," he said, "is it wise to burn 

the candle at both ends ? Come — you told 

me this morning that you were working hard. 

What do you call this ? You cannot serve 

two masters." 

"It is quite true," said the Reading Half 

on being questioned. " I have foreseen this 
difficulty for some time* 
I called on the tutor 
this morning, and I told 
him of my intention 
to work. He laughed 
aloud. I insisted. Then 
he pointed out the 
absurdity of pretending 
to work while one was 
idling about all 
This is awkward" 

"What do you 
pose then?" 

" I propose that 
stay indoors all 
morning until 
o'clock, locked in*" 
i( What ? And 
on while you 

" Exactly, You 
read French novels ; 
may go to sleep, 
must be quiet 







; you 
you must be here — all 
the morning. In the 
afternoon you may do 
what you please, I may 
quite trust you to avoid 
any effort of the brain. 
Oh ! And you will 
avoid anything stronger 
than tea before Hall, 
for lunch. It makes me 

No more 

" No more beer? But this is tyranny*" 

** No. It is ambition. In the evening 
you may go out and plav cards. I shall stay 

They went to bed. It seemed to Will as 
if the other Part of him — the Intellectual Part 

ordered him to go to sleep without further 

This curious life of separation and of 
partial union continued* in fact, for the whole 
of thdlbnde'gradnafeFlfiHife. Gradually, how 
ever, a great change came over the lazy H 

Vol. v.- 7 . 



— the Animal Half. It — he — perceived that 
the whole of his reasoning powers had 
become absorbed by the Intellectual Half. 
He became really incapable of reasoning. 
He could not follow out a thought ; he had 
no thoughts. This made him seem dull, 
because even the most indolent person likes 
to think that he has some powers of 
argument This moiety of Challice had 
none. He became quite dull ; his old wit 
deserted him ; he was heavy ; he drifted 
gradually out of the society which he had 
formerly frequented ; he perceived that his 
old friends not only found him dull, but 
regarded him as a traitor. He had become, 
they believed, that contemptible person, the 
man who reads. He was no longer a 
dweller in the Castle of Indolence ; he had 
gone over to the other side. 

Life became very dull indeed to this Half. 
He got into the habit of lying on a sofa, 
watching the other Half who sat at the table 
tearing the heart out of books. He admired 
the energy of that Half ; for himself, he could 
do nothing ; if he read at all it was a novel 
of the lowest kind ; he even bought the 
penny novelette and read that with interest ; 
if he came to a passage which contained a 
thought or a reflection he passed it over. He 
had ceased to think; he no longer even 
troubled himself about losing the power of 

Another thing came upon him ; not 
suddenly, but gradually, so that he was 
not alarmed at it. He began to care no 
longer about the games of which he had 
formerly been so fond. Billiards, racquets, 
cards, all require, you see, a certain amount 
of reasoning, of quick intelligence- and rapid 
action. This unfortunate young man had no 
rapidity of intelligence left. He was too 
stupid to play games. He became too 
stupid even to row. 

He ceased to be a dreamer ; all his dreams 
were gone ; he ceased to make music at the 
piano ; he ceased to sing ; he could neither 
play nor sing : these things gave him no 
pleasure. He ceased, in short, to take 
interest in anything, cared for nothing, and 
hoped for nothing. 

In Hall the two in one sat now with the 
reading set. Their talk was all of books and 
"subjects," and so forth. The Intellectual 
Half held his own with the rest : nay, he 
became a person to be considered. It was 
remarked, however, that any who met 
Challice out walking found him stupid and 
dull beyond belief. This was put down to 
preoccupation. The man was full of his 

work ; he was meditating, they said , his 
brain was working all the while ; he was 
making up for lost time. 

In the evening the lazy Half sat in an 
easy chair and took tobacco, while the other 
Half worked. At eleven the Industrious 
Half disappeared. Then the Whole went 
to bed. 

They seldom spoke except when Industry 
had some more orders to give. It was no 
longer advice, or suggestion, or a wish, or a 
prayer : it was an order. Indolence was a 
sefVant. "You took more wine than is 
good for me at dinner to-day," said Industry. 
"Restrict yourself to a pint of claret, and 
that of the lightest, for the future." Or, 
"You are not taking exercise enough. If 
you have no longer brain power enough even 
for the sliding seat, walk — walk fast — go out 
to the top of the Gogs and back again. 
I want all my energies." Once Indolence 
caught a cold : it was a month before the 
May examinations. The wrath and re- 
proaches of Industry, compelled to give up 
a whole day to nursing that cold, were very 
hard to bear. Yet Indolence could not 
resist ; he could not even remonstrate ; he 
was now a mere slave. 

When the examinations came it was neces- 
sary to observe precautions of a severer kind. 
To begin with, Indolence had to get up at 
six and go for an hour's run, for the better 
bracing of the nerves ; he had to stay hidden 
indoors all day, while his ambitious twin sat 
in the Hall, flooring papers. He had to give 
up tobacco in order to keep the other Half's 
head clear. " Courage," said Intellect, " a 
day or two more and you shall plunge again 
into the sensuality of your pipe and your beer. 
Heavens ! When I look at you, and think 
of what I was becoming ! " 

Industry got a scholarship ; Intellect got a 
University medal ; Ambition received the 
congratulations of the tutor. 

"How long," asked the Animal, "is this 
kind of thing going to continue ? " 

" How long ? Do you suppose," replied 
the other Half, " that I have given up my 
ambition ? Remember what you said two 
years ago. You were younger then. You 
would sweep the board ; you would row in 
the University boat ; you would play in the 
Eleven ; you would be a Leader — in all, all ! 
You would then take up with something — 
you knew not what — and you would step to 
the front. You remember ? " 

"A dreamt*! a Icheam. I was younger 


" No longer a dream. It is a settled pur- 



pose. Hear me. I am going to be a states- 
man. I shall play the highest game of all. 
I shall go into the House, I shall rise — 
slowly at first, but steadily .* 

"And I?" 

li You are a log tied to my heel, but you 
shall be an obedient log. If you were not " 

Indolence shivered and crouched "Am 
I then — all my life — to be your servant ?" 


f *m 


"Your life? No— my life." The two 
glared at each other, "Silence, Log, Let 
me work." 

" I shall not be silent," cried Indolence, 
roused to momentary self-assertion, " I have 
no enjoyment left in life- You have taken 
all— all * 

u You have left what you loved best of all 
— your sloth* Lie down — and take your rest. 
Why, you do nothing all day. A stalled ox 
is not more lazy. You eat and drink and 
take exercise and sleep. What more, for 
such as you, has life to give ? You are now 
an animal. My half has absorbed all the 
intellectual part of you. Lie down, I say — 
lie down, and let me work, n 

The Animal could not lie down. He was 
restless. He walked about the room. He 
was discontented. He was jealous. The 
other Half, he saw plainly, was getting the 

better share of things. That Half was ad- 
mired and envied By accident, as he paced 
the room, he looked in the glass j and he 
started, for his face had grown heavy : there 
was a bovine look about the cheeks : the 
eyes were dull : the mouth full Then the 
other Half rose and stood beside him. 
Together they looked at their own faces* 
* £ Ha ! " cried Ambition, well satisfied at the 
contrast* " It works already. Mine is 
the face intended for me : yours is the face 
into which this degenerate mould might sink. 
Mine contains the soul ; yours — the animal. 
You have got what you wanted, Sloth* Your 
dreams are gone from you. I have got them, 
though, and I am turning them into action. 
As time goes on, your face will become more 
bovine, your eyes duller. What will be the 
end?'' His brow darkened. "I don't 
know. We are like the Siamese twins." 

" One of them took to drink," murmured 
the inferior Half. " What if I were to follow 
his example ? " 

" You will not. You do not dare ? " But 
his blanched face showed his terror at the 
very thought 

The first step was, achieved. The first 
class was gained. C hall ice of Pembroke 
was second classic; he might have been 
senior but for the unaccountable laziness of 
his first year. He was University scholar, 
medallist, prizeman ; he was one of the best 
speakers at the Union. He was known to 
be ambitious. He was not popular, how- 
ever, because he was liable to strange fits of 
dulness; those who met him wandering 
about the banks of the river found him 
apparently unable to understand things; at 
such times he looked heavy and dull; it was 
supposed that he was abstracted ; men 
respected his moods, but these things do not 
increase friendships. Challice the Animal 
and Challice the Intellect weighed each 
Other down. 

They left Cambridge, they went to 
London, they took lodgings, "You are 
now so different from me in appearance," 
said the Intellect, "that I think we may 
leave off the usual precautions. Go about 
without troubling what I am and what I am 
doing. Go about and amuse yourself, but 
be careful." 

The victim of sloth obeyed ; he went about 
all day long in heavy, meaningless fashion; 
he looked at things in shops; he sat in 
museums, and dropped off to sleep. He 
strolled round squaresJTi'At luncheon and 
dinner time he found out restaurants whc 



he could feed — in reality, the only pleasure 
left to him was to eat, drink, and sleep. 

One day he was in Kensington Gardens, 
sitting half asleep in the sun. People walked 
up and down the walk before him ; beautiful 
women gaily dressed \ sprightly women gaily 
talking; the world of wealth, fashion, ex- 
travagance, and youth. He was no more 
than three-and-twenty himself* He ought to 
have been fired by the sight of all this beauty, 
and all this happiness. Nobody in the world 
can look half so happy as a lovely girl finely 
dressed. But he sat there like a clod* dull 
and insensate. 

Presently , a voice which he remembered : 
" Papa, it is Will Challice !" He looked up 
heavily, " Why, Will," the girl stood before 
him, " don't you know me ? " 


It was Neil, the daughter of his tutor, now 
a comely maiden of one-and-twenty, who 
laughed and held out her hand to him He 
rose, but not with alacrity. The shadow of 
a smile crossed his face. He took her hand. 

"Challice!" his tutor clapped him on the 
shoulder. " I haven't seen you since you 
took your degree. Splendid, my boy ! But 
it might have been better, I hear you are 
reading Law — good. With the House before 
you ? Good again ! Let me look at you. 
Humph ! " He grunted a little disappoint- 
ment. " You don't look quite so — quite so 
■ — what ? Do you take exercise enough ? ' 

"Plenty of exercise — plenty," replied the 

young scholar, who looked so curiously dull 
and heavy. 

" Well, let us walk together. You are 
doing nothing for the moment. 1 ' 

They walked together ; Nelly between 

" Father/' she said, when they arrived at 
their lodgings in Albemarle Street, " what has 
come over that poor man ? He has gone 
stupid with his success. I could not get a 
word out of him. He kept staring at me 
without speaking." 

Was he a lumpish log, or was he a man all 
nerves and electricity? 

In the morning Will Challice partly solved 
the question, because he called and showed 
clearly that he was an insensible log and a 
lumpish log. He sat for an hour gazing at 

the girl as if he 
would devour her, 
but he said nothing. 

In the evening 
Cousin Tom called, 
bringing Will Challice 
again — but how 
changed I Was such 
a change really due 
to evening dress ? 
_ v Keen of feature, 
bright of eye, full of 
animation, "Why, 
Will," said Nelly, 
"what is the matter 
with you sometimes ? 
When you were here 
this morning, one 
could not get a word 
out of you. Your very 
face looked heavy," 

He changed colour. 
" I have times when 
I — I — lose myself- — 
thinking — thinking of 
things, you know." 
They passed a delightful evening. But 
when Will went away, the girl became medi- 
tative. For, although he had talked without 
stopping, on every kind of subject, there was 
no hungry look in his eye, such as she had 
perceived with natural satisfaction in the 
morning. Every maiden likes that look of 
hunger, outward sign and indication of 
respect to her charms. 

They were up in town for a month. Every 
morning Will called and sat glum but hungry- 
eyed, gazing on the girl and saying nothing. 
Every evening he called again and talked 
scholars^p|g^^|Uf^Sfpl}h her father, his 
face changed, his whole manner different, 





and without any look of hunger in his 

One day after a fortnight or so of this, 
Will the Animal stood up after breakfast and 

"There has got to be a change." 
" You are changing, in fact, 1 ' replied the 
other with a sneer. 

*' I am in love. I am going to marry a 
girl. Now hold your tongue," for the 
Intellectual Half bounded in his chair. H You 
have left me very little power of speech. Let 
me try to explain what I — I want to say," 
He spoke painfully and slowly. " Let me 
— try — I have lost, bit by bit, almost every- 
thing. I don't want to read I can't play 
any more, I don't care about anything much. 
But this girl I do care about. I have always 
loved her, and you — you with your deuced 
intellect — cannot kill that part of me. Be 
quiet — let me try to think. She loves me, 
too. She loves me for myself, and not on 
account of you and your success. She is 
sorry for me* She has given me — I don't 
know how— the power of thinking a little. 
When I am married to her, she will give me 
more, Ixt us part absolutely. Take all my 
intellect and go. Nell will marry a stupid 
man, but he will get something from her — 
something I am sure. I feel different already ; 
I said something to-day which made her 
laugh. What are you glaring at me for ?" 
" I am not glaring. I am thinking. Go on*" 
"This has got to stop. Now find some 
way of stopping it, or — or — — " ■ 


"What can you do?" 
"I can drink," he said, with 
awful meaning. "I can ruin 
you. And I will, unless you 
agree to part," 

The Intellectual Half was 
looking at him with a strangely 
softened face. There was neither 
scorn nor hatred in that face. 
"Dimidium Animas," he said. 
"Half of my Soul, I have some- 
thing to say as well. Confess, 
however, first of all, that I was 
right. Had it not been for this 
step — the most severe measure 
possible, I odmit — nothing would 
have been achieved. Eh ? ■ 

** Perhaps. You would work, 
you see," 

" Yes. Well — I have made a 
discovery. It is that I have 
been too thorough, I don't quite 
understand how, logically and 
naturally, anything else was 
I wanted, heaven knows, all the 
there was; you were, therefore, 
bound to become the Animal, pure and 
simple. Well, you see, we are not really 
two, but one. Can't we hit upon an agree- 

u What agreement ? " 

"Some agreement — some modus vivendL 
I shall get, it is true, some of the" Animal; 
you will get some of the Intellectual, but we 
shall be united again, and after all 
He looked very kindly upon himself, and 
held out his hand. So they stood with 
clasped hands looking at each other. 

"I found it out through Nell," the 
Intellectual Half went on. " You went to see 
her every morning — I went every evening. 
You were always brimful of love for her; I, 
who knew this, was not moved in the 
slightest degree by her* Oh ! I know that 
she is the best girl that the world, at this 
moment, has to show; I am fully persuaded 
of that : yet she has ceased to move me. I 
think of her Intellect, which is certainly much 
lower than my own, and I cannot even 
admire her. In other words, I cannot be 
moved by any woman. This terrifies me," 

" It threatens my future. Don't you see ? 
He who cannot be moved by woman is no 
longer man. But man can only lie moved 
by brother man. If I cannot move men my 
career is at 2./1 £nd> What they call magnet- 
ism belHiB^rtAtHiraBftfiHlVwi thin us. When 
that is gone, I now perceive, when tiK 



animal is killed, the rest of the man has no 
longer any charm, any attraction, any 
persuasion, any power of leading, teaching, 
compelling, or guiding. His success, what- 
ever he does, is all glitter — evanescent glitter. 
He may sit down and hold his tongue, for he 
can do no more good." 

" I only half understand," 

u Intellect, in short, my lower Half, is of no 
use without human passion. That is what it 
means. We have gone too far. Let us end 

"How? You despise the man who is 
only animal." 

" No — no ! The animal is part of man, I 
understand now. I have done wrong — 
brother Half — to separate myself so much 
from you. Only, you carried it too far. You 
would not work : you would not give me 
even a decent show* Suppose — I say 
suppose —we were united once more. Could 
I count on being allowed to work ? " 

* l Yes," said the Animal, u I have had a 
lesson too. You shall work," he hesitated 
and shuddered, u in reason, of course — say 
all the morning, and, if you go into the 
House, all the evening.*' 

" I would not be hard upon you. I would 
let you have a reasonable amount of indolence 
and rest My success w r ill be less rapid, on 
your account, but it will be more solid 
Do you think that if we were to be lost 
again in each 
other, I should 
once more feel 
foT that girl as — M 

" Why," said 
the Animal, " you 
would be — Me ; 
and what I feel for 
her is, I assure you, 

That evening 
Will Challice sat 
at the open win- 
dow in the dark, 
Nellie's hand in 
his. "My dear," 
he murmured, 
"tell me, do you 
love me more be- 
eause I have 
realized some of 
our old dreams?" 

"Will; how can 
I tell you ? I love 
you, not your suc- 
cess. If you 
had not done so 



well, it would have made no difference. Your 
success is only an accidental part of you." 
Oh ! the metaphysician ! "You are not your 
success, Yet, of course, I don't love you for 
your fine degree, you conceited boy, and yet 
it is for yourself" 

He kissed her forehead. " The old dream 
time was pleasant, wasn't it? when we chose 
to be Archbishop of Canterbury one day and 
Lord Chancellor the next. To be Leader of 
the House of Commons is the present 
ambition. It is a most splendid thing" — 
the dreamer's eyes looked up into space 
with the old light in them — "a most 
splendid thing— to lead the House— to sway 
the House. But I don't know," he sighed, 
11 it will take an awful lot of work. And the 
Cambridge business did take it out of one 
most tremendously* I didn't believe, Nell, 
that I had such an amount of work in me," 

t( You have been so gloomy lately, Will, 
Was that fatigue ? *' 

" Ambition on the brain, Nell," he replied, 
lightly— as lightly as of old— success had not 
destroyed the old gaiety of heart, " I've con- 
sulted a learned physician, Dr, Sydenham 
Celsus Galen, Wimpole Street. He says 
that an engagement' with the right girl— he 
is extremely particular on that point, so that 
I do hope, Nell, we have made no mistake — 
is a sovereign remedy for all mopey, glum, 
dumpsy, moody, broody, gloomy, sulky, ill- 
conditioned va- 
pours. Itis,hecon- 
fessed t the only 
medicine in his 
All his clients 
have to follow 
that prescription. 
You will very soon 
find that those 
glum, dumpsy 
moods have van- 
ished quite away. 
You will charm 
them away. Oh ! 
I live again — I 
breathe — I think 
— I don't work 
so infernally hard 
— I am once more 
human — because 
I love, and be- 
cause " The 

girl's head rested 
*r upon his arm, 

UNIVERSITind he kissed he^ 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 

- Born 1844. 

born in New York of English 
parents. His literary taste is a 
natural gift, his mother being a 
niece of Charles Lloyd, the poet, 
and a cousin of Christopher Wordsworth, the 
late Bishop of Lincoln, and herself known as 

From fl*k 


a poetess, and the authoress, among other 
things, of "The Wife's Dream." Mr. Clark 
Russell went to sea as a middy before he was 
fourteen, and during the next eight years 
picked up the thorough knowledge of sea- 
faring life which he afterwards turned to such 
good use in his novels. His first book was 
"John Holdsworth," but it was his second 
story, "The Wreck of the Grosvenor," which 
he wrote in little more than two months and 
sold to a publisher for fifty pounds, which 
marked a new era in the evolution of the 
nautical novel Since that time Mr. Clark 
Russell has had the sea to hinisdf, and his 

ftOtt ttj 

AGE I7< 
(A% 4 M utihijmtan./ 


descriptions of sea-scenery, and his pictures of 
real-life sailors, are not likely soon to find a 
rival Mr. Clark RusselPs latest story, " List, 
Ye Landsmen " — one of his very best —is 
now appearing in Tit-Bits. 

From A Photo. By* 





the appearance of these portraits of the young 
Princess at different ages* A more charming 
set we have never had the privilege of pub- 

In offering our sincere congratulations and 
best wishes to the youthful pair, we are sure 
that every reader of The Strand Maga- 
zine will cordially join us. 

la Photo, W agb iz* 

*W. i*i>. jtomuy, 


Born 1875. 

HE marriage of Princess Marie, 

the eldest daughter of the Duke 

^^j and Duchess of Edinburgh, to 

^5Jb^ Prince Ferdinand of Roumaiiia, 

which is fixed to take place on 

January the ioth 3 will almost coincide with 


jFVofll a Photo, by) P R BSE NT DA V 

IZffttA, Fljfuuiuth. 



\ a PHnto. bjf] 

■■' -i . 17. 

(tf(ni4jr T Jta^fczreri 

*Vvm a FAoto. &irl 

Prince Ferdinand 

of Roumania, 

Born 1865. 

N A N D 
second son of the 
reigning Prince Leo- 
pold of Hohenzollern 
and Princess Antonia, 
Infanta of Portugal, 
was born in Sig- 
maringen on the 24th 
of August, 1865. After 
several years of private 
tuition under the 
parental care, he 
joined, together with 
his brothers, the 
gymnasium of Diisscl- 
dorf. He was ap- 

pointed by the Em- rrw*Pfc*to.M 


[Iftinrfy* Bucharest. 

. i-: si. l.lfirn^y, Buckarutt. 

peror William a lieu- 
tenant in the Infantry 
Life Guards. He then 
joined the military 
school at K as eel, and 
after a regular course 
of studies, obtained 
his commission as 
officer in the army. 
In November, iS86, 
he went to Bucharest 
with hin father, and 
after participating in a 
brilliant review, was 
nominated by King 
Charles L a lieutenant 
in the 3rd Infantry 
Regiment. On the 
was proclaimed Heir 
Presumptive to the 
Crown of Roumania 
■R3JTY *^ e unanimous 
vcte of the Senate. 
Vol v.- a 



From a] 

[ f 3 h(*tngrftf>h 


J^ <TWF»* 


America to play in 
'* Madame Favart," at the 
Fifth Avenue Theatre. 
On his return to London 
he created the character 
of the Duke in "Oli- 
vette." Shortly after this, 
in 1882, in the title role 
of "Rip Van Winkle" at 
the Comedy, he came 
prominently into public 
notice- In this character 
he proved himself a worthy 

Fruw a f hbto. fty the L>ndtm Sterm. Co. 

disciple of' Joseph Jefferson. 
Then came a 
second visit to 
America, from 
which Mr + Leslie 
returned after a 
year to fill his old 
part when " Rip 
Van Winkle " was 
again revived. 
Early in the spring 
of 18S5 he moved 
to the Opera 
Com i que, and in 
the December of 
that year joined 
the Gaiety Com- 
pany, in which his 
loss will be very 
severely felt. As 
a dramatic author 
he wrote under 
the name of 
A. C. Torr, a 
derivation from 
the word " Ac- 

Atifc 37. 

An a Sftvemt 

l']f^rd hy hiiti <ui 
JVmmaIh r 2SI/* h 1 Wl, 
hU fn*t nm*tfir<fiw4 
before Aw drxiih. 

a. rhofa bj/\ a(jk 14. 

\hn\jffir. CitrppL 

r ^ r dy 


Born 1855. 

jFTER leaving Dr.Quine's school at Notting 

Hill, Mr. Leslie passed a short probation 

in the provinces, and joined the Royalty 

Theatre in 1872, making his dibuf on the 

London stage in the character of Colotitl 

in "Paul Pry/' He subsequently visited 

Friym a Photo, bx) A^ie 37. IT** London StePoo. (Jo. 





in ( Longman's Magazine '), 
and now 'A Queen of 
Curds and Cream J (Messrs. 
Eden and Co.), all these 
under the signature * Doro- 
thea Gerard. 1 On April 
i 2th, 1887, I was married to 
Captain (now Lieut- 
Colonel) Julius 
Longard, of the 7 th 
Austrian Lancers. " 

ac;e 11* 
From n PhArto, by 
limit yGivts. 

AGE 21. 
Fram a Photo, hy 

at Rochsoles House, Lanark 
shire, N.B. The following is 
a brief autobiography of this 
well-known and popular novelist, 
with which she has been good 
enough to supply us : M My father's 
name was Archibald Gerard. My mother was 
nee Euphemia Erskine Robison. In 1876, 
being in a deadly dull Hungarian country 
town, rny eldest sister (Madame de 
Laszowska) and I took to writing in 
despair, conjointly t and merely as a means 
of passing the time, signing ourselves 
VE. D t Gerard/ Considerably to our 
astonishment we found a publisher for our 
first attempt— * Reata/ This was followed 
by * Beggar My Neighbour * and * The 
"Waters of Hercules 1 (all three published 
by Messrs. Blackwood), after which our 
literary partnership ceased. Since then I 
have written 'lady Baby' and 'Recha* 
(Blackwood), and 'Orthodox* (first appeared 

F^mt a j rM$«»T qat. [Mackintosh, Ktt*> 






Lord Mayor, Born 1824. 

|R. STUART KNILL, whose 
election to the Mayoralty this year 
was invested with unusual interest, 
is the son of the late Mr + John 
Knill, of Fresh Wharf, London 
Bridge, to whose business he succeeded. He 

From a] 

AGE 38. 


was educated at the Blackheath Proprietary 
School, and at the University of Bonn. He 
entered the Corporation in 1885 as Alderman 
of the Ward of Bridge, and served the office 
of Sheriff in 1889-90* He is a member of 
the Goldsmiths' Company, and is now 
Master of the Guild of Plumbers for the 
second time. In this capacity he has taken 
great interest in all matters connected with 
the registration of plumbers, and subjects of 
sanitation and hygiene. He is a leading 
member of the Roman Catholic 




>Pk Cv. 






HATSon the cards?' 
A question common 
enough when the 
actual knowledge of 
tne moment does not afford a positive answer; 
a question, too, which has an origin taking 
us back to the earliest use of playing 
cards. But to how many of those to whom 
playing cards as a means of recreation 
are familiar is it known what may be found 
on the cards ? Yet upon these " bits of 
painted cardboard " there has been expended 
a greater amount of ingenuity and of artistic 
effort than is to be found in any other form 
of popular amusement. Pope's charming 
epic, M The Rape of the Lock," gives us, in 
poetic form, a description of the faces of 
the cards as known to him and to the card- 
players of his time : — 
" Behold four kings In majesty revered T 
With hoary whiskers and a forky beard ; 
And four fair queens, whose hands sustain a flower, 
Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r ; 
Four knaves in garlis succinct, a trusty band, 
Caps on thdr heads and halberds in their hand." 

It is not our purpose to historically trace 
the evolution of cards — this is a subject 
beyond the reach of the present article — but 
a look farther afield will give us evidence that 
during the last three centuries there has been 
a constant adaptation of cards to purposes 
which take them beyond their intention as 
the instruments for card playing only. The 
idea that playing cards had their origin in 
the later years of Charles VL of France 
may be disposed of at once as a popular 
error, though it is true that the earliest 

©9 Y ' (9|eg^ ©UUwp 

FIG. i. 



authentic examples which still exist a:e 
parts of the two packs of cards which were 
produced for the amusement of that King, 
by the hands of Jacques Gringonneur, and 
of which seventeen are preserved in the 
Bibliothfrque Nationale of Paris. 

These are the most early forms of playing 
cards, and are known as " Tarots " (as dis- 
tinguished from fl Numerals/' or cards which 
have the consecutively marked "stilt " signs \ 
and which had evidently a purpose outside 
the ordinary games of playing cards as 
known to us. The "Tarot" pack consists 
variously of seventy-two, seventy-seven, or 
seventy-eight cards, including the " Tarots/' 
which give them their distinctive name, 
"Tarot" as a game was familiar three 
centuries ago in England, but is so no longer, 
although it has a limited use in other parts 
of Europe still One of the "Tarot " cards } 
of the Bibliotheque Nationale, *' La Mort/' 
is shown as the first of our illustrations 
(Fig. i). 

HG. S. 

Familiar to those who are conversant with 
the literature of playing cards will be the 
Knave of Clubs, shown in Fig, a, which is 
one of the fragments of a pack of cards 
found, in 1841, by Mr. Chatto, in the waste- 


FIG. 3* 

paper used to form the pasteboard 
covers of a book. These cards are 
printed in outline from wood blocks 
and the colour filled in by stencilling, 
a method employed in the manufacture 
of cards down to a very few years ago. 
The date of these cards may safely be 
taken as not more recent than 1450, 
and they are most interesting as being 
coeval with, if not antecedent to, the 
most early form of printed book illus- 
tration as shown in the " Biblia 
Pauper urn." * The archaic drawing of 
the features, with its disregard of 
facial perspective, and the wondrous 
cervical anatomy, do not lessen our 
admiration of the vigour and "go" 
shown in this early example of the art 
of the designer and wood engraven 

_ rm _ 

01 the type -printed book. 

and text cut on a 
immediate precursor 



It is in interesting relation to the knaves 
of a pack of cards to note the curious con- 
servatism which has belonged to them during 
the last four centuries and a half. In a MS, in 
the British Museum, written in the year 1377, 
the monkish writer, in a moralizatian on the 
life of man, suggests its resemblance to a game 
of cards ; and he gives us a description 
and the attributes of some of the cards, Of 
those which we now know as knaves, he says 
two of thern hold their halberds or arms 
downwards and two of them upwards — a dis- 
tinction which is retained on many of the 
playing cards still manufactured. 

In Fig. 3 we have one of the cards from a 
series of "Tarots " of Italian origin, also pre- 
served in the Bibliothfeque Nationale, and 
which may be dated about 1470. These 
are very beautiful in design, and indicate 
that they were thought worthy of the employ- 
ment of the highest artistic talent 

We have an example of a somewhat more 
modem date in the Knave of Diamonds 
(FK 4), in which the costume and character 
point to the early part of the sixteenth 
century as the period of their production* 
This also is from a fragment discovered in 
the boards of an old book — a source which 

may be commended to the watchfulness of 
the bookbinder, as the bindings of old books 
are still likely to provide other interesting 

Before us are parts of two packs of cards 
which were discovered in Edinburgh, in 1821, 
pasted up in a book of household accounts, 
one of its leaves bearing the date of 1562 ; 
and it would be no great stretch of fancy to 
believe that they were taken to Edinburgh by 
some follower of Mary Queen of Scots on her 
return to Scotland a year before this date. 
These cards are of Flemish make ; on one of 
them is the name "Jehan Henault," who 
was a card-maker in Antwerp in 1543, and 
in passing we may remark that at this period 
there w T as a considerable trade between 
London and France in playing cards of 
Flemish manufacture. Old playing cards may 
be looked for in most unlikely places; a 
few years ago two nearly complete packs 
were found wedged in an old cross-bow, for 
the purpose of securing the bow where it 
had worked loose in the head ; they were 
of sixteenth century manufacture, and had 
doubtless been the means of relieving the 

tedium of many si weary watch or waiting, in 
field opt-J f:dfortttn&^^J--j ll^^f^gc^X Vt 1 ^^^ found their 
resting-place of a couple of centuries in the 



obsolete missive weapon where they were 

We find on many cards some attempts at 
portraiture. Thus we have in Fig. 5 Clovis 
as the King of Clubs, but depicted in a 
costume of the time of Henry IV, of France, 

FIC. 6. 

the card itself being of that period* This, 
as well as Fig. 4, is from a pack of fifty -t wo 
" Numeral " cards, printed from wood-block 
and stencilled in colour. 

Returning to " Tarots," we have in Fig, 6 
(Le Fou) one of the cards designed by 
Mitelli about 1680, it is said to the order of 
a member of the Bcntivuglio family (parts of 
whose armorial bearings are to be found on 
many of the cards), for the " Tarrocchini 
di Bologna," a special form of the game of 
Tarot, a series of spirited designs of vigorous 
and careful drawing, and the most artistically 
valuable of any of the Tarots with which 
we are acquainted. In them not only the 
Tarot series but the ordinary suits display a 

quaint conception and generally elegant 

It is curious to note that in the eleven 
packs or parts of packs of these Bolognese 
cards which we have met with in various 
parts of Europe there is not any uniformity 
of manufacture, but while the designs are the 
same and evidently produced from the same 
copper plates, the making of them into cards 
for the purpose of play bears indication of 
what might be termed a " domestic " manu- 
facture, For some time the game was inter- 
dicted in Bologna, and it is possible that this 
may have induced a surreptitious production 
and illicit sale of the cards, Fortunately, 
the interdict did not prevent the preservation 
to us of this interesting series. 

At different periods between the sixteenth 
and nineteenth centuries, but notably in the 
two earlier of them, card *' suits " have been 
used other than the familiar ones of Hearts, 
Spades, Ctubs, and Diamonds, and much 
ingenuity and imagination have been exercised 
upon them. Among the most beautiful of 
such cards we take the set designed and 
engraved by Virgil Sol is, the celebrated 
Nuremberg artist and engraver, in which the 
suit signs are Lions, Peacocks, Monkeys, and 
Parroquets, In Fig. 7 we have the Ace of 

fig. 7. 



Peacocks. The aces are lettered with the 
distinctive suit-titles of the German cards, 
vk, "Grun," "Eicheln," "Schellen," and 
"Herzen," The pack consists of fifty-two, 
divided into four suits of thirteen cards 
each; the date of these cards is between 
1535 and 1560, and they are an important 
and valuable item in the artistic history of 
playing cards. 

Another example of this variation in the 
suit signs, as well as of a variation from the 
ordinary rectangular form, is to be found in 
the round card (Fig. 8), of a somewhat 
earlier date than the preceding, where the 
suits are Hares, Parrots, Pinks, and Colum- 
bines, and which when complete make also 
a pack of fifty-two, the value of the cards 
following the sequence of King, Queen, and 
Knave being indicated by the Arabic numeral 

at the base of and the Roman figure at the 
top of each, the card shown being the Six 
of Hares. 

In both of them there is a great deco- 
rative facility and clever adaptation to the 
form of the card. To indicate the coinci- 
dence of idea, in the nest (Fig* 9) we 
have a round card from India — one of the 
" Coate " cards of a pack, or more properly 
series, of 120 cards* The material used in 
their manufacture is matted vegetable fibre 
coated with lacquer and painted by hand* 
Most of the playing cards of Persia are 
also round, and are similarly decorated by 
the same means. About a dozen years ago 
round playing cards were patented in America 

FIG. 9. 

as a novelty, in ignorance of the 
fact that cards of that shape had pro- 
bably been in common use in the East, 
centuries before the discovery of that 
great and inventive country ! 

As an illustration (Fig. 10) of the suit 
signs of Southern Europe, we take a 
card from a Portuguese pack of 1610, 
the " Cavalier de Batons " (Clubs) ; the 
other suit signs are Swords, Coins, and 
Cups. The anatomy of the charger 
and the self-satisfied aspect of the 
Cavalier are striking; and as to the 
former, we are reminded of the bizarre 
examples of hippie adornment which, 




on a summer Bank Holiday* may be seen 
on the road to Epping Forest 

Among the secondary uses to which play- 
ing cards have been applied, we find them 
as political weapons. Among .such cards arc 
those which were produced to commemor- 
ate what is historically known as the u Titus 
Oates Plot" in 1678, one of the most 
prominent incidents being the murder of Sir 
Ed mo nd bury Godfrey, who is here shown 
{Fig, 11), carried on a horse, the day after 
his murder, to Primrose Hill, where the 
body was put into a ditch t the carrying on 
the horse and the discovery in the ditch 
being shown as coincident. They were 

Jfie hoJy afSjEiM & carry j£ 
to Pmm rv/2 ktjlott g Ifor^ 

produced, probably, as one of the means 
of inflaming the public mind against 
the Roman Catholics, which led to the 
execution, among others, of the Viscount 
Stafford in 1680- As illustration of costume 
and of stirring incident, these cards are, 
apart from their intention, an admirable 
and interesting series, and are worth study 
from their historic and artistic aspects. 

We come now to playing cards designed as 
methods of education, of which a consider- 
able number have been produced — and 
which cover the widest possible range — from 
cookery to astrology ! In the middle and 
latter half of the seventeenth century, 
England, France and Germany abounded in 

Cccccllcnt nuutciatjutjcttt daiu 
lamer par itd marchandj jiour 
aizairjo rt hi&t, ct ay ant j&iid defa. 
MfflB atmtitqucdh&trc Jcttdvn Jan* 
fltvt tc weeut eble mitau hord\ 

examples, the most attractive being the 
series of "Jeux Historiques/' invented by 
Desmarests > a member of the French Aca- 
demy—acting under the instructions of 


grand* frthyru, 

LpnqdcSjhJhparve delaZFrana: par 
IbccanvcrsteSeptnntnon, comprwid 
lAtufldenr ct VEtcojfe* au couclmntelh 
a Unandc/imt auircgrtmde ush, Titles, 
MmdTvj, O^^/JtcwmsMiu* la Uamifc, 

Original from 





4$6mry' Second 

fauit 9i Butt, tffcou, dr Ttrdurtj 
ttt&* dejFenBit ambrt touts la, 
ww 9e tEmp&zur- Qkarutf* 


PIG- 14. 

Cardinal Mazarin — as aids to the education 
of the boy King, Louis XIV. In Figs. 12, 13, 
14, and 15 are given examples from the four 
packs so designed, and they afford a good 
instance of the primary use of cards being 
subordinated to the educational. The first 
of these is the "Jeu de Fables/ 1 with repre- 
sents ti en r, and short notices erf the heroes and 
heroines of classic history, the four Kings 
being Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto, and Saturn. 
The second is the "jeu de Geographic," 
the four suits being formed by the division 
of the world into four quarters, each 
having its distinctive group of thirteen 
designs, with brief geographical descrip- 
tions ; Great Britain being shown as the 
Eight of Hearts. If designed by an 
Englishman, it would surely have been as 
Queen of that suit that our country would 
have appeared. We have then the "Jeu de 
Rois de France," intended to teach the 


au i&ecoitrs dej {Jrvyen* cmdrv h& 

Be6avaiIIarice. mejuttucejtar 

FIG. 15. 

history and succession of the Kings of 
France, whom we find depicted in their 
numeric order, from Pharamond to Louis 
XIV., with the length of their reigns and 
short biographies. 

The third and fourth of these packs 
are singular in consisting in the one case 
of all Kings, and the other of all Queens, 
in the '* Jeu de Reynes Renomm^es," the 
famous Queens of history, from the Queen 
of Sheba downward, furnishing the design, 
and who are classified under the descrip- 
tions of Good, Wise, Holy, Clever, Brave, 
Happy, Cruel, Licentious, Capricious, and 
Unfortunate ; our Queen Elizabeth being 
placed as "clever," and Mary Stuart as 
*' unfortunate," They are beautiful examples 
of design and workmanship, and are the work 
of the Florentine artist-engraver, Stefano de la 

(To fa continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 



HEN I went out to Egypt some 
years ago, I determined to 
devote myself to the study of 
Arabic, and not to rest till I 
could speak and write it like 
an educated native. This rash 
resolve, however, -was made in ignorance of 
the sublime difficulties of this language, and 
after plodding at it with great vigour for a 
year, and acquiring some facility in speaking 
it, and the ability to read a sentence so as to 
sometimes get a faint glimpse into the 
meaning hidden behind the hieroglyphs which 
the Arabs call letters, I came to the con- 
clusion that I had better rest on my laurels, 

While my enthusiasm lasted I used to seize 
every possible opportunity of talking Arabic 
with any native I came across, and great was 
my disgust when, as sometimes happened, an 
Arab would persist in airing his English on 
me. As a rule, however, they were rather 
flattered by my evident desire to know their 
tongue, and some of the shopkeepers with 
whom I dealt would take a pleasure in teach- 
ing me new phrases, 

By A. E. Burn* 

One of these, by name Haiti, who sold silks, 
shawls, etc., etc,, and whose respect I had 
gained by some considerable purchases for 
friends in England, became quite intimate with 
me, and related to me a considerable portion 
of his own history and that of his family, 
and it was from him that I heard the follow- 
ing story of his courtship, which is not quite 
so prosaic and business-like as such affairs 
usually are in Mohammedan countries Kis 
shop was in the silk bazaar at Cairo, 
and what first led to the subject was a 
sentence in Arabic written over it, which 
I had puzzled my brains in trying to read 
for some time before I at last managed to 
translate it. It ran as follows : " Long is 
the hair of woman, and long also is her 
understanding/' This motto rather surprised 
me, as the Arabs have not, as a rule, that high 
opinion of the fair sex's understanding which 
it expressed, and I thought I could see the 
reason for a certain reluctance to assist me 
in translating it in the usually obliging Halil. 
After some evasive answers to my questions 
he took me into his confidence, and told me 
the following story in explanation of it :— 

" I have already told you, Effendi, that 
my father died when 1 was eighteen years 
old, and that, being the only son, I became 
proprietor of this shop and the head of our 

" I was not married, and had no wish to 
be, as I looked r] upqn:.. i ^jomeii with aversion 
and eontam^ with my 

mother WHert "sT^fe'Wlsfrect 16 get me a wife. 



I was encouraged in these ideas by an old 
man named Mahran Effendi, who had been 
a great friend of my father, and who still 
came in the evening to my house to smoke a 
nargileh with me. He had two wives, who 
gave him much trouble with their quarrels, 
and he used to say that women were created 
as a punishment for the sins of men, and to 
prevent them from being so much attached 
to this world as to be tin willing to leave it 
even for the joys of paradise, which, he said, 
would certainly be the case if there were no 
women. He repeated to me a sentence 
which he said was out of the Koran, though 
I have not seen it there myself. It was, 
4 hong is the hair of woman, but short is her 

41 1 was much struck with this, and re- 
peated it to my mother with great pleasure, 
who was not so much pleased with it 
as I was. Indeed, she was quite angry, 
and said that Mahran was an old donkey, 
and the son of a donkey, I, however, 
had a higher opinion of the wisdom of my 
old friend, and, acting upon his advice, I 
determined to adopt 
this as my motto, 
and to paint it over 
my shop instead of 
the proverb which 
had been put there 
by my father. My 
motto made quite a 
stir in the bazaar for 
the first few days, 
and caused a good 
deal of amusement 
amongst the other 
shopkeepers and the 
passers-by. I have 
no doubt it was re- 
peated in many of 
the harems also, for 
some of the women, 
who may have been 
teased about It by 
their husbands, re- 
viled me as they 

11 One day, not 
long after this, two 
women entered my 
shop and asked to 
be shown some of 
my finest silks j so I 
took them into the 
inner part, where I 
keep the most costly 
of my goods, While 

her companion, 
up one of the 
means became 
ground, and I 

they were examining them I noticed that 
one of them had eyes that shone like 
stars, and which she kept fixed on me 
even while she laughed and chatted with 
Then, in stooping to pick 
shawls, her veil by some 
detached and fell to the 
saw the face of what I 
thought to be surely the loveliest houri ever 
seen by mortal man, She gave a little scream 
and called to her companion, who seemed 
to be her servant, to assist her to refasten it T 
but at the same time gave me a smile and a 
glance out of her dark eyes, which swallowed 
up all my dislike to women as the light of a 
taper is swallowed up in that of the noonday 
sun. 1 was so confused by the new emotions 
which possessed my soul, that when they 
departed, saying they would come again 
shortly to decide about the silk, I could 
not utter a word to detain them. Nay, 
by the beard of the Prophet, I could do 
nothing but gaze at the houri till 
she was out of my sight. For three 
long days I waited in vain for their 





return. At last my heart began to be 
sick within me, and I feared I should never 
again behold the lovely maiden who had 
bewitched my soul, when on the fourth day 
I saw two females approaching, and I recog- 
nised that the slighter of the two was she. 
I had provided myself with several gold 
pieces, and was ready to give them all, if 
necessary* to make the attendant my friend. 
As soon as they had entered, and I had 
brought forth my silks, I drew this woman 
aside, and slipping one of the gold pieces 
into her hand, disclosed to her my passion 
for her mistress, and begged her to tell me 
who she was. The woman seemed inclined 
to laugh at first, but when I had finished 
became grave and said in a low voice, £ My 
young mistress looks upon you with favour ; 
but, alas ! her father, the Sheikh Abdu 
Hassan, is so mean that he cannot bear 
the thought of his daughter marrying, 
on account of the dowry he would be 
expected to give with her, and he will 
not even allow her to see any visitors, 
lest her beauty should become known, 
and he tells all who ask for her that 
she is very ugly and ill-tempered* so 
no one will marry her on that account ; 
but if you love Khadijah, my mistress, 
go to the Sheikh and say that you will 
take her without any dowry, and then 
he will, perhaps, be tempted to give 
her to you.' 

"When she had told me this, she 
went back to her mistress, and they 
both hastily departed* 

"I shut my shop an hour earlier 
that day, and, on arriving home, told 
my mother all that had happened 
She was very much astonished, and 
could not understand why, after refus- 
ing to have a wife for so long, I was 
now so anxious to have one without 
a dowry. She tried to dissuade me, 
but I paid no heed to her words, and 
went that same evening to the Sheikh, 
whom I fortunately found alone* I 
told him who I was and what my 
possessions were, and that I wanted 
a wife ; but, as I had no one to speak 
for me — my father being dead— I had 
come myself to ask him for his daughter. 

He listened quietly, with his eyes fixed 
on ray face, and when I had finished, 
said : — 

"'Alas! my son, the girl Khadijah is 
ugly, and has the temper of a mule.' 

"*For these things, O Sheikh/ I replied, 
T care not 1 

11 ' You think you will get a heavy dowry 
with her, 1 he said, coldly ; ( it is for that you 
have come/ 

" 1 1 swear by the holy Prophet, 1 I cried, 
* that I want the girl and not the money. 
Nay, I will even take her without a single 
piastre, to prove it 1 

li At these words his eye brightened, and 
on my promising that no one should know 
that I was not to receive a dowry with 
her, he embraced me, saying, i She is yours, 
my son/ and the matter was settled. 

" Of course, I did not see my bride till we 
were married, which we were in seven days. 
What was my horror when, after the cere- 
monies were over and my wife unveiled, I 
beheld, instead of the lovely girl who had come 
to my shop, a sharp-faced, ugly woman with a 



sour expression, I was dumb with amazement; 
but, by a great effort, I controlled my temper, 
and pretending to seem satisfied with my bar- 
gain, inwardly resolved to find out why I had 
thus been duped- My wife soon showed her 
temper, and quarrelled with my mother the very 
first day. She seemed to think she had married 
beneath her, arid to show her superiority, began 



to ill-treat the servants, and usurped my 
mother's place in the house. 

"Some days after my wedding I was in my 
shop as usual, when the two women appeared 
as before. I immediately beckoned them to 
follow me into the inner part As soon as 
we were there I turned to the false Khadijah, 
and almost choking with anger I asked her 
why she had brought this curse upon my life, 

11 * What have I ever done to you that you 
should make such a day 
of pitch for me ? * I cried. 

**She laughed heartily, 
and her old servant follow- 
ed her example. I was 
just about to burst forth 
into a torrent of invectives 
when she threw off her 
veil and, laying her hand 
on my arm, said softly, 
1 1 have done this, 
Halil, to show you 
that the motto 
over your shop is 
not true, and that 
the understanding 
of woman is as 
long as her hair. 
I will show you a 
way by which you 
can divorce your 
wife without of- 
fending her father, 
but on one con- 
dition only." 

** * It is grant- 
ed/ I cried, 'if I 
come freely out of this/ 

t( * Change, then, the 
motto over your shop, and 
put instead, M Long is the 
hair of woman, and long 
also is her understand- 
ing,"' she said, almost 

" ■ But I shall have the 
whole bazaar laughing at 
me/ I cried, aghast at 
this proposal ( I will take 
it away and restore my 
father's proverb if you will help me, and 
will give you as much jewellery as you shall 
ask, but I cannot change the motto to what 
you say/ 

" * Jewellery is nothing to me/ she said, 
scornfully. * Change the motto to what I have 
said, or keep your wife, I care not which,' 
Upon this she veiled herself and was going 
away, but I detained her and said, ( 

maiden, you have asked me a very hard 
thing ; but I will do even this if you will rid 
me of this woman, and tell me in truth who 
you are, so that I may have you for myself/ 

" She promised she would, and made me 
swear by the sacred window of the Prophet 
that I would uhange the motto to her liking 
the day after I should be married to her 
She then went away, saying she had stayed 
too long already, but that she would send 
her servant the next day, 
who would tell me her 

11 On my return home 
that evening my mother 
met me with many com- 
plaints of the behaviour 
of my wife, who had 
abused her during my 
absence, and she ended 
by bewailing that I had 
not let her choose a wife 
for me, 

"The next day the 
servant appeared t and 
after telling me who her 
mistress really was, thus 
unfolded her plan : — 

" ' To-morrow evening 
you must meetyour father- 
in-law at the coffee-house 
he frequents, and in the 
meantime collect some of 
the poorest and lowest 
men you can find, and 
promise them a good 
backsheesh if they will 
obey the orders you will 
give them, which are 
these : While you are at 
the coffee-house the oldest 
man of them must come 
in and sit by your side, 
and call you his dear 
nephew, and say he hears 
that you have made a rich 
marriage, and that he 
hopes you are not going 
to slight your own rela- 
tions in consequence. 
The other men must follow his example, and 
say much the same thing, but call you cousin, 
brother-in-law, or friend, 

w ' The old Sheikh, who is very proud of his 
family, will want you to divorce his daughter 
at once, but you must pretend you are too 
satisfied with her to do that, and from 
threats |r h? . rail ..cprge,^ to .entreaties, and wi 1 
at lair^Bift^U^'bhW'Jou. Not till the 




must you yield, and when you do, it must be 
with apparent reluctance*' 

" I was overjoyed at this plan, and be- 
stowed one of my brightest shawls on Fatima, 
who went away promising to come soon again 
and see how I had got on. I told my 
mother of the plan, which comforted her a 
good deal, and on the next evening I carried 
it out I saw disgust and dismay rise in Abdu 

divorce her/ I replied, calmly, ' and that I 
will not do, for I love the girl 5 

" At this he began to entreat me, offering 
me at first four purses of silver, and at last 
offered me the same number of purses filled 
with gold, to which I consented, with 
apparent reluctance, 

** He made me divorce her that very even- 
ing, for divorce, as you know, Effendi, is 


Hassan's face when we were at the caf£ and 
the first dirty old beggar came up to me and 
addressed me as his nephew, which became 
mingled with rage when another ragged fellow 
came up to congratulate his cousin, as he 
called me ; but when two more supposed 
cousins had joined us, even dirtier than the 
others, he could contain his feelings no longer, 
and turning to me, cried : £ Is it true, O Halil> 
that these sons of dogs are indeed your rela- 

u c Yes, O Sheikh/' I said, humbly, - Be not 
displeased with me ; a man must not disown 
the brother of his father, or the sons of his 
father's sister, even though they be poor" 

u ' Poor ! ' he roared, * Poor ! They are not 
only poor, but they are sons of pigs. Give 
me back my daughter. She shall not stay with 
you to be the mother of dogs ! J 

" r You cannot take her away unless 

3y Google 

very easy with us ; and a week afterwards I 
altered the motto over my shop door to what 
it now is, for Ayesha (that was her true 
name) was mine/ 1 

As Halil finished his story, I became 
aware that he had another listener in the 
shape of a little urchin, clad in a brightly 
coloured gown, which reached to the ground, 
and who wore, perched on his closely- 
shaven head, a small tarboosh. He had 
appeared from some corner of the shop, and 
now sidled up to Halil, his bright black eyes 
fixed on my face. 

u See, Effendi," said Halil, with a proud 
smile, a this is the eldest of my five boys." 

After I had rejoiced the eldest son's heart 

with a small " backsheesh/ 1 I took leave of 

Halil with many friendly salutations, and a 

pressing invitation on his part to come again 


Original from 


From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 


[ The first of what ', it is hoped, will be a long series of articles, descriptive of the House of Commons \ is here 
appended. The author is Mr. Henry Lucy, who has spent nearly a quarter of a century in the Press Gallery of 
the House, and who, in addition to much other successful journalistic Mr£, has, in the character of if Toby, M*fi>, 
supplied to our distinguished contemporary \ il Punch" some of its most amusing sketches, 4f From Behind the 
Speaker's Chair 7 ' will be continued, and will, we folieve, he looked forward to by our readers, month by months 
with constant interest. — Ed i r or* ] 

struck me at the time, composed almost 
exclusively of elderly gentlemen. The 
chances of detection of an unauthorized 
stranger (being, Jiioreover, a beardless youth) 
were accordingly increased. But I was 
determined to see the House from behind 
the Speaker's Chair, and was happy in 
the possession of a friend as reckless as 
myself. He was on the staff of a morning 
journal, and, though not a gallery maiij knew 
most of the confraternity. 

One night he took me down to the gallery 
and endeavoured to induce more than one 
of the old stagers to pilot me in. They 
stared aghast at the proposal, and walked 
hurriedly away. We were permitted to stand 
at the glass door giving entrance to the 
gallery and peer upon the House, which struck 
me as being very empty. The door swung 
easily to and fro as the men passed in and 
out, taking their turn. The temptation proved 

" I think I'll go in," I said. 

"Very well, 7 ' dear old Walter hoarsely 


is just twenty years, 
marked by the opening 
Session, since I first had the opportunity of 
viewing the House of Commons from a coign 
of 'vantage behind the Speaker's Chair. It 
is more than twenty years since I looked on 
the place with opportunity for closely studying 
it But, as I am reminded by an inscription 
in an old rare copy of u Dod," it was in 
February, 1873, that I was installed in the 
Press Gallery in charge of the Parliamentary 
business of a great daily paper. 

I first saw the House in circumstances that 
might well have led me to the Clock Tower. 
It was in the spring of 1869, I was passing 
through London r on my way to Paris, where 
I had proposed to myself to live for a year, 
master the language, and proceed thence 
to other capitals of Europe, learn their 
tongues, and return to storm the journalistic 
citadel in London, armed with polyglot 
accomplishments. Even then I had a strong 
drawing towards the House of Commons, 
but desired to see it, not as the ordinary 
stranger beheld it from the gallery facing the 
Chair, but from the Press Gallery itself. 

In those days the adventure was far more 
difficult than in existing circumstances. 
The country Press was not represented save 
vicariously in the form of a rare London 
correspondent, who wrote a weekly letter 
for some phenomenally enterprising county 
paper. The aggregate of the London staffs 
was far smaller than at present, and was, it 


whispered. "Turn sharp to the right, sit 
down on a back bench, and I daresay no one 
will ncfl^^^iVERSiTY 

Vol. v.-is 

9 o 


At the corner of the bench, presumably 
guarding the doorway, sat a portly gentleman 
in evening dress, with a gold badge slung 
across his abundant shirt front. He was fast 
asleep, and I passed along the bench, sitting 
down midway. At that time there were no 
desks in front of these back benches, which 
were tenant less- I suppose my heart beat 
tumultously, but I sat there with apparent 


composure* At length I had reached the 
House of Commons, and eagerly gazed upon 
it, feeling like some watcher of the skies 
when a new planet swims into his ken ; 

Or like si out Cortez when, with eagle eyes, 
He stated at the Pacific, 

I don't know how long I sat there ; pro- 
bably not five minutes, certainly long enough 
to be struck with the smallness of the chamber, 
the commonplace appearance of the person- 
ages forming the historic assembly, and the 
perfect manner in which they dissembled 
their interest in current proceedings. Then 
I became conscious of a movement in 
the sunken boxes before me, where the 
reporters, taking their turn, sat Heads were 
turned and whispered consultations took 
place. Someone woke up the portly 
gentleman j whom 
through many later 
years I knew as Steele, 
the chief janitor of the 
Press Gallerv. 

In time, then far 
off, he became the 
possessor of a cottage 
and garden in Kent, 
whither, wearied with 
his legislative labours, 
he used to retire from 
Saturday to Monday. L ifctiO 

In summer-time he always brought me two 
or three roses, which he put in my hand 
with an awkward sort of flap, as if they were a 
slice of bacon he was depositing on a counter. 
That was his way of intimating that it was of 
no consequence. He noticed that I always 
comforted myself through long debates and 
all-night sittings with a handful of flowers 
set in a little glass on my desk, which was 
generally upset in the course of the evening 
by some unsympathetic reporter borrowing my 
box during a temporary absence, and clumsily 
turning round in the circumscribed space* 

But that is another story. It was no 
flowers that Steele now brought me, but 
stern peremptory command to " get out ! " 
He was unusually irate, first at having been 

wakened out of his sleep, and secondly at 
having in probably unique circumstances 
been caught napping at the post of duty. 
I went forth disconsolate, and there was 
a great hubbub in the dark little room 
outside, My friend and co-conspirator fled 
in affright when he saw me actually enter 
the gallery. Now he dropped in in a casual 
way, and stood at the edge of the crowd 
whilst Steele took down my name and address, 
and told me I should " hear from the 
Serjeant-at-Arms/ 1 I don't know whether that 
potentate ever communicated with me. I 
fancy Steele, recognising his own somewhat 
imperilled position, was not anxious to pursue 
the matter. Anyhow, I never heard from the 
Serjeant-at-Arms, Wither and I agreed, as 
a matter | ^^ |.^f^¥|"f R'B R '^f I had better 



hasten my departure for Paris, and two days 
later the English Channel rolled between me 
and the Clock Tower, 

Next time I entered the Press Gallery it 
was as the accredited representative of the 
Pall Mall Gazette. I came over from Paris 
to spend Christmas at home, and never went 
back to complete that continental tour in 
search of knowledge, which I fancy had been 
suggested by Goldsmith's trip with his flute. 
It happened that in the early days of 1870, 
the proprietor of the Pall A fall Gazette began 
the first of the series of chequered changes 
in the history of the journal, by starting it as 
a morning paper. I had been an occasional 
contributor in a humble way to the evening 
edition, and thought I might have a chance 
of an appointment on the staff of the new 
morning paper. 

Mentioning this to 
my friend Walter, he 
undertook to see it 
through, just as he had 
fallen In with the even 
more audacious pro- 
posal to enter the Press 
Gallery. I remember 
we were not far off 
North urn berl an d Street 
when the subject was 
broached , and might 
easily have walked 
there. But Walter could 
never embark upon 
enterprises of this kind 
unless he went in a 
cab , the driver being 
incited to go at topmost 

He left me in the cab whilst he ran up- 
stairs to the office in Northumberland Street 
— I saw him going two steps at a time — and 
flung himself into the office of Mr* Fyffe, an 
old and highly -esteemed member of the 
Tints staff, who had joined Mr, Frederick 
Greenwood in the editorial direction of the 
new development of the Pall Mall What 
Walter said to Fyffe I never learned 
in detail, but subsequently had reason to 
guess he told him he had in the cab down- 
stairs a young fellow who was (or would be) 
one of the wonders of the journalistic world, 
and that the morning edition of the Pall 
Mall would have no chance unless it secured 
his services. 

However it came about ; whether Fyffe had 
some work in hand and was anxious to be 
relieved from the embarrassing presence of 
his visitor bou . _ng all over the room in the 


enthusiasm of his advocacy ; or whether, as 
usually happens with a new paper, choice 
was limited, I was engaged then and there 
as assistant sub -editor at the salary of four 
guineas a week, I believe the regular average 
rate of remuneration was five guineas* But I 
was young and inexperienced ; and after 
living in the Quartier Latin for nearly a year 
on fifteenpence a day, cultivating French 
literature on peiifs noirs > four guineas a week 
was a competency. " Trots de cafe " is what 
Daudet in his " Trenie ans de Parts ** calls this 
sip of nectar, " Cest a dire" he explains, u foiir 
trots sous Wun cafe savour eux balsamiqm 
raisonnabkment idu/c&ri" But Daudet must 
have frequented aristocratic quarters. At our 
cremerie we never paid more than two sous, 
and, bent on attaining luxury, we demanded 
"un petit titfirJ 1 

When the paper 
started, Mr. Fyffe did 
the Parliamentary sum- 
mary, of which the Pall 
Mall made a feature, 
placing it on the leader 
page. One afternoon, 
after I had been on 
the staff for some six 
weeks, I looked in at the 
office, and found it in a 
state of consternation, 
Fyffe had been sud- 
denly taken ill, and it 
was impossible for him 
to go down to the 
House to do the sum- 
mary* Mr Greenwood 
sent for me and asked 
me to take his place, 
for that night at least To go down to the 
House of Commons and take an ordinary 
" turn " of reporting for the first time is, I 
suppose , a trying thing. To be bundled off 
at an hour's notice to fill the place of one 
of the most eminent Parliamentary writers of 
the day, and to supply a leading article on 
a subject of the surroundings of which one 
was absolutely ignorant, might seem appalling. 
It all came very naturally to me. I did my 
best In the strange, somewhat bewildering, 
circumstances, and as long as the morning 
edition of the Pall Mall lasted, I continued 
to write its summary, Fyffe came round 
again in a week ; but he never more took up 
the summary, leaving it in my hands, with 
many words of kind encouragement 

It was in October, 1872, I joined the staff 
of the l>^ly Ntw^ having, under Mr, 
Robinsons watchful eye, gone through a 


9 2 



period of probation as 
contributor of occa- 
sional articles descrip- 
tive of current events. 
I might, in the ordinary 
course of events, have 
continued in that line, 
as my friend and 
colleague Senior has 
done these twenty 
years, with honour to 
himself and credit to 
the paper. But here, 
again, chance befell and irresistibly led 
me back to the Press Gallery. In this 
very year a change took place in a long 
standing management of 
Parliamentary corps and 
its summary, and Mr, 
nated me as successor 
man who retired. It 
and, in some respects, 
seeing that I was, 
members of 

the Daily News 
the writing of 
Robinson desig- 
of the gentle- 
was a curious 
a delicate posi- 
compared with 


the staff, a mere 
chicken in point of 
age. There were three 
who had been on the 
paper since it started, 
any one of whom 
might, had Fortune 
favoured me in that 
direction, have been 
my grandfather. But 
we got along admir- 
ably, they easing my 
path with kindly 
counsel and the 
frie nd 1 ies t con s i d era- 

It was different with 
some of the old hands 

on the other corps, who bitterly resented the 
intrusion. I am not quite sure whether the 
two or three who still survive have got over 
it yet Certainly old "Charlie" Ross, 
then and for some years after manager 
of the Times staff, carried the feeling 
to his honoured grave. After I had sat 
next but one to him in the gallery for many 
Sessions he used, on encountering me in the 
passage, to greet me with a startled expression, 
as if I were once more an intruder, and would 
walk back to the outer doorkeeper (whom he 
autocratically called Srneeth, because his 
name was Wright) to ask, " Who's that ? " 

Old Ross's personal affront in this matter 
probably dated back to the Session of 1872, 
when I took an occasional turn for a friend 


who was a member of his staff. This was 
young Latimer, son of the proprietor of the 
Western Daily Mzrmry\ who had been 
called to the Bar and occasionally got a brief 
on the Western Circuit. When he went 
out of town I became his substitute in 
respect of his Parliamentary duties* It was 
Mr. Ross's custom of an afternoon to seat 
himself on the bench in the ante-chamber of 
the Press Gallery, armed with a copy of the 
Times report of the day, with the fcl turns ? ' all 
marked with the name of the man who had 
written them. He genially spent the morn- 
ing in reading the prodigious collocation in 
search of errors. When found, these were 
made a note of, the guilty person w T as 
sent for and had a more or less pleasant 
quarter of an hour. This was called being 
"on the gridiron." 

I had only one experience of the process. 
Seated one day by command beside this 
terrible old gentleman, he produced the 
marked passage containing one of my turns, 

and pointing to the 
name, Mr. Ward Hunt, 
fixed a glowering eye 
on me and said, with 
his slow intonation : — 
"Who is * Mr. 
Ward Hunt'?" 

u He is the member 
for North Northamp- 
tonshire," I timidly 

"Oh!" he said, 
withering])-, "that's 
whom you mean. 
'Ward Hunt 1 ! Let 
me tell you, sir, 
Ward Hunt may do 
very well for the 
penny papers, but 
in the Times report we write ' Mr. W. 

I don't know why this should have been, 
since the burly gentleman, who in the next 
Parliament was Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
was invariably called by his full style. But 
then, as I have said, nobody knew why old 
" Charlie " Ross dubbed Wright Smith, and 
pronounced it Smeeth, 

Gentlemen of the Press Gallery who now 
live at Westminster at ease, with their library, 
their smoking-room, their choice of writing- 
out rooms, their admirably-appointed and 
self-ad ministered commissariat department, 
little know the state of things that existed 
twenty years ago, Comrvut+e^ Room No. 18 
had then I W&Hfll£ bttt'ttE^tVi.ted to their use 



as a writing-room, providing it were not, 
when the House met, still in the occupation 
of a Committee. But the writing-out rooms 
originally apportioned, and then still in con* 
stant use, were two dark, ill- ventilated dens 
which served as ante-chambers from the 
Press Gallery. The Times staff appropriated 
the room to the right, still occupied by their 
telephonic service; the corresponding room 
to the left being for general use. The room 
at the top of the stairs — where Wright still 
presides and entrances the telegraph mes- 
sengers with sententious remarks on poli- 
tical, social, and philosophic affairs — was 

also used for writing-out purposes, if a man 
could find a corner at the table at which 
to sit 

This was difficult, since this closet, not 
bigger than a boot-room in an ordinary house- 
hold, was also sole dining-room attached to 
the Press Gallery. In addition to his official 
duties at the door, Wright, in his private 
capacity, added those of purveyor. Every 
Monday he brought down (in two red cotton 
pocket-handkerchiefs, it was profanely said) 
a round of cold boiled beef and a chunk of 
boiled ham; the latter tending, if memory 
serves, rather towards the shank end. This, 
with bread, cheese, and bottled beer, was the 
sole provision for the sustenance of the 
sixty or seventy gentlemen who then com- 
posed the corps of the Press Gallery. 
At that time it was more widely the 
practice to go out to dinner or supper. But 
for those whose duties kept them in close 
attendance on the gallery there was nothing 
for it but cold beef, cold ham, or an amalga- 
mation carefully doled forth. Many a night, 


seated at the little table that still remains in 
this outer room, I have watched Wright pre- 
pare my sumptuous repast. He was even 
then short-sighted, and to this day I have 
vivid recollection of the concern with which 
I saw his nose approach to dangerous 
contiguity of the round of beef as he 
leaned over it to cut a slice with judicious 

Even this accommodation was regarded 
askance by the constitutional au trior i ties of 
the House, still accustomed to regard the 
Press as an intruder happily subject, under 
the beneficent regulations of the Stuart days, 
to instant expulsion if any member pleased 




to take note <of the presence of its repre- 
sentatives. In 1867, a Committee sat to 
consider the general arrangements of the 
House. The reporters, greatly daring, took 
the opportunity of laying 
before it a statement 
of their grievances, and 
asked for fuller con- 
venience for carrying 
on their work. Lord 
Charles Russell, then 
Serjeant-at - Arms, was, 
very properly, astonished 
at their unreasonable- 
ness, and plaintively 
deplored the times 
when, as he put it, 
reporters seemed to re- 
quire only the neces- 
saries of life, not 
presuming to lift their 
eyes to its luxuries. 

"They used, I am 
told/' Lord Charles 
added, "to have just a glass of water 
and biscuits, or anything of that sort Now 
they have their tea at the back of the gallery. JJ 


Oliver Twist asking for more scarcely 
reached the height of the audacity of these 
reporters in 1867. Like Mr. Bumble, the 
Serjeant-at-Arms of the day literally gasped 
in dismayed astonish- 

All this is changed. 
Thanks to the courtesy 
and reasonableness of 
successive First Com- 
missioners of Works, 
of whom Mr. David 
Plunket was not the 
least forward in doing 
good, the arrangements 
in connection with the 
Press Gallery of to-day 
leave nothing to be 

Of the changes that 

have taken place in 

the House itself, and 

of the ghosts that flit 

about the benches 

where twenty years ago they sat in flesh 

and bone, I shall have something to say 

next month. 

[IMPORTANT NOTICE* — Companion to the Strand Magazine. Now Selling. To be obtained of all 
Booksellers and Newsagents. The Picture Magazine, Price Sixpence* Monthly. This new publication^ 
issued from the offices of M The Strand" contains nothing but pictures* and forms an Art Magazine for the 
General Public. Features : — Fine Art Portraits* Curious Pictures ; Humorous Pictures f Pictures of Places* 
Pictures for Children^ etc.* etc.] 

by Google 

Original from 

A Child's Tear. 


The Dramatist's Story. 

From the French of 

Edouard Lemoine. 

N a Parisian green-room a new 
performer was complaining of 
nervousness. From some of 
her companions she received 
encouragement, but the ma- 
jority expressed themselves after 
this fashion : " Such tremors are incurable. 
As nature has formed us, bold or timid, cold 
or ardent, grave or gay, so we must remain. 
Whoever saw an ambitious man cured of his 
ambition, or a miser of his avarice ? n 

Some members of the company objected 
to the fatalism of these observations, and 
one said : " If you ask for a converted miser, I 
can show you one. Here he is ! /am one." 
The man who said this was a popular 
dramatist, noted for generosity. His state- 
ment was received with ejaculations of 
" Nonsense ! n " Impossible ! " " Do you 
expect us to believe that ? " " Indeed," 
answered he, quite seriously, f * I speak the 
truth. I was a miser, although now, I trust, 
I am such no longer, If you would care to 
hear it, I will relate to you the story of my 
conversion* It was effected by a child*s 

tear" All present immediately crowded 
around him, and heard from his lips the 
following recital : — 

" In 1834," said the dramatist, ,( I had just 
given to the theatre of the Porte-Saint- 
Martin one of the most successful of my 
pieces. One day about that time two letters 
reached me by the same post. Both were 
from Marseilles. One was from a theatrical 
manager, informing me that he intended 
bringing out my new piece there, and that he 
desired my presence at the final rehearsals of 
the drama. With regard to remuneration for 
my trouble, I might make my own terms in 
reason. The second letter, a very brief one, 
ran thus : 'Monsieur, the wife and daughter 
of your brother are dying of want Some 
hundreds of francs would save them, and I 
doubt not that you will hasten to visit con- 
nexions so near to you, and make arrange- 
ments for their present and future comfort 1 
This letter bore the signature of Dr. Lambert, 
of Marseilles. 

"As I have already told you, I was a miser 

in ^ffl^.ufflmsitf the word The 

9 6 


physician's letter, far from moving me to pity, 
merely renewed certain angry feelings which 
had formerly existed in my mind towards my 
sister-in-law. When, soms years back, my 
brave sailor brother, who had since been 
drowned, had written to tell me of his 
approaching marriage with a fisherman's 
daughter, I, in my miserable pride and miser- 
liness, had replied that in marrying a penni- 
less girl, I considered that he was doing a 
most foolish and degrading action. I was 
even wretch enough to advise him to break 
off the match, if that were still possible. 
My brother, like the honourable man he was, 
wedded the girl he loved, My sister-in-law, 
who was a high-spirited Breton, never forgot 
my letter, and despised its writer. When 
she lost her husband, and found herself in 
need, it was long ere she could bring herself 
to apply to me. But the sight of her only 

on my sister-in-law's behalf. As I had not 
replied to his letter, the good man had said 
in his simplicity: ■ He will be here in person,' 
and had looked for me every day, 'You 
have lost no time, sir/ said he, ( Doubtless 
you thought, and rightly, that did you delay, 
death might forestall you. Ah ! I am indeed 
glad to see you ! J 

" I was completely nonplussed. My sole 
object in visiting Marseilles had been the 
professional one ; but how could I avow such 
a fact to such a man? For very shame I 
could not do so. Accordingly, instead of 
going straight to the theatre, as I had in- 
tended doing, I walked away with the doctor 
to my sister-jn-Iaw's poor abode. 

iS It was a most wretched room. Yet the 
first object in it that caught my eye was a 
very beautiful one. Near the invalid's bed 
stood her little girl, with large black eyes, 



child wasting away from sheer want, had at 
last broken down her pride. 

"As the engagement at the Marseilles 
theatre seemed likely to prove a highly 
profitable one, I, as you might expect, lost 
no time in accepting the offer. I wrote 
off to the manager at once, and followed my 
letter m person with as little delay as possible. 
When I arrived at the principal hotel of Mar- 
seilles, I encountered there, in the act of 
inquiring for me, the doctor who had written 

pretty curly hair, and a face whose expression 
was a pathetic combination of youthful 
brightness and premature sadness, At the 
first glance I could have taken the lovely 
creature into my arms; then I sternly re- 
pressed this alien emotion* The doctor, 
after he had spoken a few words to his 
patient, beckoned me to approach. As I 
did so the poor woman tried to raise herself. 
The mixture of redness and pride upon her 
faded co^p^c^f.Jpl^fi^^pUinly how great 




an effort it had cost her to appeal to me. 
Using the strongest plea that she knew, she 
pointed to her child with weak, trembling 
finger, and said in low tones: 'See here! She 
will soon be alone in the world/ 

'* Even this touching appeal produced (I 
blush to say it) no effect upon my hard heart. 
I answered coldly : ' Why give way to such 
fears ? You are young ; you have a good 
physician ; why lose all hope ? J A less selfish 
man would have added: ' You have a brother- 
in-law also, who means to do his best for 
you/ But /said nothing of the sort. My 
only thought was how I might most easily 
escape from the threatened burden* The 
little girl, who had been gazing at me with 
wondering eyes, now came to my side, and 
said: 'Will you, please, sit upon the bed? 
Because you are too 
talt for me to kiss you 
if you stand.' 

" I sat down, and the 
child climbed upon my 
knee. Her mother's 
eyes were closed, and 
her hands were clasped 
together as if in prayer. 
Unaffrighted by my 
black looks, the little 
one threw her arms 
around my neck, and 
pressed her lips to my 
cheek. 'Will you be 
my papa ? s said she. 
*I will love you so 
You are like 
He was very 
Are you good, 
My only answer 
was to unclasp her arms 
somewhat roughly from 
my neck, and set her 
down upon the floor. 
She cast upon me a 

dearly ! 


glance of mingled sur- 
prise, disappointment, and fear, and a 
tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Her 
silent sorrow worked the miracle that her 
pretty, fond prattle had failed to effect 
As by an enchanter's wand, the ugliness 
of my character, the utter brutality of 

my conduct was revealed to me in that 
moment I shuddered in horror and self- 
disgust, and yielded at once to my good 
angel. I lifted the disconsolate little maiden 
into my arms, and, laying my hand upon her 
head, said : * Yes, my child, I promise to be 
a father to you ; you shall be my dear little 
daughter, and I will love and take care of you 

"How happy this promise made my sister- 
in-law words fail me to describe. Her joyful 
excitement alarmed both the physician and 
myself, Joy T however, seldom kills, 'Brother! 
brother ! ' she murmured ; t how my thoughts 
have wronged you ! Forgive me!' Her 
gratitude stung my newly-awakened conscience 
more sharply than any reproach could have 
done, I hastened to change the subject 
to that of the sick 
woman's removal to a 
better dwelling. The 
doctor, with ready 
kindness, undertook 
the task of house- 
hunting, for which I t 
a stranger to the 
place, was not so well 

" He found for us 
a delightful cottage in 
the neighbourhood of 
Marseilles, There we 
three — my sister-in- 
law, my niece, and 
myself — lived for three 
months* At the end 
of that time the 
mother passed peace- 
fully away, leaving her 
child to my care, with 
full confidence in my 
affection. Marie has 
been with me ever 
since. Her joys have 
been my joys, her life 
Do I not owe her 
of hers — a precious 
pearl gathered by my heart — has been to it 
what the dewdrop of morn is to the unopened 
flower — expanding it for the entire day of its 
existence ! n 

has been my 
much ? That 


by Google 

Original from 

Vol, v 

The Queer Side of Things. 

A Story of Impression and Conviction ; being, possibly, a true word spoken in jest, 

N an hour," 
sang the min- 
strel to his 
harp, whose 
frame was 
the curved 
black horn of 
a deer — "in 
an hour thy 
fo re fat her 
strode from 
this spot 
whereon we 
sit to the sum- 
mit of yon 
blue hill ; and 
there, as the 
sinking sun 
would bend to 
caress his feet 
(as grovels a 
foe), he would 
touch its face 
with his hand in token of friendliness. 
Twixt dawning of day and noon would thy 
great forefather slay three hundred red-eyed 
wolves — one hundred shuffling bears ! 

"In a day did he carve and hew this 
bowl from the hardest rock, and fashion and 
form it thus ; and bore a hole in its base for 
the water to trickle and ooze, and number 
the hours that sped ! " 

Then up rose the hunter to whom he sang; 
and broad was his chest, and active his limb; 
and he cried aloud, " What my forefather did 
that will I do ; in an hour will I stride from 
here to the summit of yon blue hill." 

And those that sat around, listening, 
laughed from their deep chests, shouting in 
mockery ; for the blue hill was a day's jour- 
ney away. 

Then in anger the chief clutched his spear 
of flint ; and he cried to them, " Fill up the 
bowl to the mark that marks an hour, and 
fill it up again till the two hours mark is 
reached ; and ere the last drop is out will I 
stand on yon blue hill ; and moisten my hand 
in the bowl" 

Then turned he his face to the West, and, 
striding, stood on the cairn that capped the 

blue hill; and, returning, plunged his hand 
in the bowl : and, lo ! his finger was mois- 
tened by the last drop ere it dripped from 
the hole at the base ! 

Then those that sat around sent up a 
shout of mockery ; and they said, ** Lo, since 
you strode away hath the red sun set on the 
hill, and hath risen again from the lake \ and 
is stooping to set once more ! " 

" Then," cried he, " your words are a lie ; 
for the clock but marks two hours." 

But the others cried in their turn, "The 
marks in the bowl were made to number, not 
hours, but days / " 

But the minstrel answered them, " Nay j 
they were made to number the hours— the 
hours of the distant past ; the hours that 
were long as days," 

Then the younger among them laughed, 
and held it a minstrel's myth ; but the elders, 
pondering, cried, "These words of the 
singer are sooth j for the days that whiten our 
beards are passing in greater haste than the 
days that lengthened our limbs ! " 

But the younger among them said, "The 
hole in the bowl is clogged ; it should run 
twelve times as fast" 

And they bored the hole in the base till 
the water dripped more fast — twelve drops 
to the former one — and numbered the hours 
that passed. 

And, wreathed in the grey of the mist that 
crept from the breast of the lake, the soul of 
the hero of old, of him who had fashioned 
the clock, looked down on them while they 
wrought : and vainly it strove to speak, and 
tell of the truth it knew ; but voice and a 
tongue to speak would it lack for ages to 
come, for never a voice or tongue would it 
have till its hour arrived to dwell in the 
flesh once more; and then, and never till 
then, should it tell of the truth it knew, 


And, behold, on a day certain men journeyed 
toward Egypt, and this was that land of 
Egypt that should thereafter be mighty 
exceedingly ; for these were the days before 
the First Dynasty — yea, many thousands of 
years before. And, it being nigh unto the 
time of the setting of the sun, they happened, 
by adveWtlfiyejfijpflrlillar'tk^ffii. 



And they that journeyed toward the land of 
Egypt spake, saying. Shall we not lay down 
our burthens, and shall we not take the 
burthens from off our camels and from off 
our asses in this place, and abide for the day 
in this place, even here ? 

And they lay down their burthens even as 
they had spoken, saying, Shall we not lay 
them down ? Also they took the burthens 
from off their camels and from off the backs 
of their asses, yea, and even from off the 
backs of their wives ; and did tether them, 
even their camels and their asses and their 
wives, round about the cavern ; and the men 
that journeyed toward the land of Egypt 
entered in unto the cavern, where there was 
shade, and washed their feet, and rested in 
the heat of the day. 

■ And it came to pass, while they that 
journeyed toward the land of Egypt rested 
in the cavern in the heat of the day, that 
they found a bowl in the cavern, and the 
bowl was of hard stone ; even hewn from 
the hardest rock; and in the base of the 
bowl was a hole ; and they that journeyed 
toward the land of Egypt marvelled at the 


And behold, a certain man of them that 
was a wise man spake, saying, This is a 

marks upon the inner side, even on the 
inward surface thereof, and were these marks 
not made to show the hours, by the dripping 
of the water from the hole that is at the 
bottom of the bowl, even the under side 
thereof ? 

But they cried out upon him, saying, 
This is no true thing that you speak, neither 
is it the fact : for the water would abide in 
the bowl, between one mark and another, for 
the space of more than an hour ; yea, even 
more than two or three hours ! 

Then they cried out all together that the 
bowl should be filled with water ; howbeit 
they said, Behold there is not in this 
cavern water sufficient to fill the bowl ; for 
have we not emptied the water-skins that the 
women did fill at the well and did carry here ; 
and is not the well distant from this place, 
even many paces of a camel ? 

And there was none among them that 
would arise and go in the heat of the day to 
fetch the water that was in the well ; but he 
that was wise among them spake, saying ; — 
Shall not our wives, even those that are 
tethered outside the cavern round about it — 
shall not one of these go unto the well and fill 

the bowl at the well, 
and bring it hither 
filled with the water 
that is in the well ? 
So they that jour- 
neyed toward the 
land of Egypt called 
out to the wives 
that they should 
enter in and fetch 
the bowl; and should 
fill it at the well 
even as they had 

And it came to 
pass when the bowl 
was filled and set 
in their midst, that 
the water that was 
in the bowl, by 
reason of its drip- 
ping so slowly from 
the hole that was at 
the bottom of the 
bowl, abode in the 
bowl between one 
mark and another 
the space of three 
hours by the shadow 
set up outside the 

of a spear thai 

t was 



clock at which ye marvel ; for hath it not So JW^AWstt jjttUMEJJ&Hlioward the land of 



Egypt, even they that lay in the cavern, cried, 
saying, Behold, is it not even as we said, 
saying, The water will abide in the bowl 
between one mark and another for the space 

of Egypt ; for the spirit was filled with a 
great and exceeding desire to speak those 
things that were known unto it ; yet the 
time of its speaking was not yet. 

of more than an hour ; and hath it not abode 
there the space of three hours ? 

But he that was wise among them said unto 
them, Nay, but for a certainty these marks 
that are in the bowl were made for the 
marking of the space of an hour; howbeit the 
hours that were at the time of the making of 
this bowl, were they not of the space of three 
hours, even of three of the hours of the 
present time ? 

Then they that were aged and well 
stricken in years among them that lay in the 
cavern in the heat of the day, these com- 
muned with themselves for a space ; and 
they spake, saying, Verily thus, and thus 
it seemeth unto us ; that the space of the 
passing of the hours that behold the white- 
ness of our beards is verily shorter than 
the space of the passing of the hours that did 
behold the increasing of our statures in the 
tents of our fathers ! And it seemed unto 
them even so, that this saying was true. 

But they that were young among them, 
even the young men, scoffed, saying, The 
hole that is at the bottom of the bowl is 
clogged by reason of dirt that is within the 
hole : shall we not, therefore, bore out the 
hole, to the end that the water that is within 
the bowl shall drip faster, even three times 
as fast ; and shall set forth the hours ? 

So they that were young did according 
to that saying ; and they bored the hole 
round about, until the water that was within 
the bowl dripped out three times as fast. 

And they rejoiced, saying, Behold, now 
it is a good and useful clock ! And they 
bore the bowl with them into the land of 
Egypt ; four wives and an ass carried the 
bowl in their turns — the four women for a 
space, and the ass for a space — until they 
came to the land of Egypt ; and the clock 
was set up in the land of Egypt. And this 
was in the days before the First Dynasty ; yea, 
many thousands of years before. And behold, 
the spirit of him that had wrought the bowl 
followed after the bowl, even unto the land 

Honour to thee, King Ammon, mighty as Pthah the gwt f 
son of Osiris, to whom libations I A howl wrought of hard 
stone set up at the temple of /sis marking the time. 


In the days of Amun-Ta-Ra, in the Fifth 
Dynasty, in the year of the Altering of the 
Clock. Glory to thee, Amun. 

In that year, after his return from the war 
with many captives, did Amun-Ta-Ra order 
the greater hollowing of the hole at bottom 
of the clock set up before the temple of Isis 
telling the hours. 

The clock too slowly dripping, the hole 
being in part stopped, showing the hours 
too long, was altered. One hour in the 
space. of two did it count. Let Amun-Ta-Ra 


Young Reuben scraped off his boots the 
worst of the mud from the furrows against 
the gate-post, shut the gate, and trudged 
homewards from his labour; as he turned 
into the road from the end of the lane 
he came in sight of old Reuben, sitting 
as usual on his heap of stones by the road- 
side ; his hammer lay idly in his hand, its 
head on the heap of larger flints before him ; 
the old gentleman was slowly shaking his 
head — not that he was such a very old 
gentleman ; sixty, maybe ; and still hale and 

"What be amiss, father?" said young 
Reuben. " Ye've bin a-settin' there shakin' 
yer head like a old owl since I turned into 
the road. It be time to knock off." 

" Amiss, Reuben ? Why, thet's where you 
have me, like. What I know is, there be a 
somethin' amiss ; and it be either me or the 
time, and so I tell ye. Am I a-gettin' old 
an' weak, boy ; or is it the hours a-goin' 
quicker ? Lookee here, Reuben, it do seem 
to me as I can dit^ft'i in the time every 
blessed day as follers t'other ! Why, thirty 




year agone, blest if I didn't do — ah, double 
thet there little J eap in the day's work— and 
yet, blame me if I feel a bit weaker nor I 
used ter! You mark my words, Reuben, boy; 
the hours is a-gettin J shorter every day — thet's 
what they*re a-doin^ and you put it down at 

Young Reuben laughed in- 
credulously, "You're a.-gittin' 
lazy, old *un — that's about the 
size of it," he said* 


[ Some kind o' wash- 
seem to reckon it 



•I hain't a-gettm' nothink o' the kind nor 
discripshen 1 " said old Reuben, starting up 
indignantly ; "and you put it down at thet." 

11 Well, lazy or not lazy, I ken show ye a 
stone as you ain't industrous enough fer to 
break* Found it in a furrer, I did ; an* talk 
about *ard I And a fair rum 'un he be, too." 

They plodded to the field young Reuben 
had just left ; and young Reuben, with some 
difficulty, lifted the "stone "for inspection- 
It was a bowl, very ancient by the look of it, 
laboriously carved and ground out from a 
piece of rock that seemed as hard as steel. 

"A rum 'un he be, too, and right you 
are," said old Reuben. " A wash - bowl, 

"What be that 'ole in the bottom fer, 
then ?* said young Reuben. 

" Why, fer to empty him, that be, as a pig 
might see with 'is eyes shet" 

They carried the bowl home, and a pretty 
good weight they found it. 

Old Jim Pedler came along that evening 
to have a pipe* Jim Pedler had been about 
a deal here and there, and he knew a lot, 

"Why, whatee got theer?" 
said he, 

" Mebbe yell 
better ner us," 
basin, so 

"Wash-basin," said old Jim 
Pedler. "That's jest what it 
been't. I tellee now, I do think 
as it's some kind of old sort of 
water-clock, an* that's what I 
think. Why, see here now, if 
there ain't bin lines J ere inside 
fer to mark the hours or 
somethin 1 . That's it — it be a 
water-clock, S'pose we gits 
some water an* tries it." 

They cleared out the hole at 
the bottom and filled the bowl 
with water up to the first hour 
mark; and, old Jim Pedler 
having a watch, they sat and 
looked on as the water dripped 
out ; but when they had sat and 
smoked for two hours the bowl 
was still far from empty* 

" Twern't never meant to 
reckon hours by, that's a moral," 
said young Reuben. 

" Thet's more ner_y<?# knows," 

replied o 1 d Reu be n. ' £ Wha t der 

you know about folks 's hours 

as lived ages ago? You 

other folks's hours alone, as 

better ner you. Mebbe 

longer— what did I say 

about the hours a-beln' 

was thirty year 

it 'ud make a 

jest let 

p'raps knowed 

their hours was 

this wery day 

shorter now than wot they 

agone ? But I tell yer wot 

we was to bore 
manage to git 

notionable kind of clock if 
the ? ole a bit bigger and jest 
it right for the hours." 

So they drilled and filed and tried to chip; 
and after much labour they madfi the hole 
large enough to let out the water from one 
mark to the next in sixty minutes. 

And all the while there hovered around 
them, invisible, the spirit of him that fashioned 
the bowl, longing to speak what it knew ; but 
its titpafr-ifor returning to the flesh was not 
yet Jt'ffU coming. 




The nineteenth century was ancient history, 
when one day, in a breathless, hurrying world, 
a busy City man was borne electrically home 
to his suburban villa one hundred miles from 
the City, 

He was tired and morose, and a settled 
worry clouded his face. 

11 What is it to-day, John ? " asked his 
wife. " Done nothing again ? IJ 

"Nothing," re- 

tions,about twenty 
words, to chief 
clerk by seven — 
dashed home 
again like light- 
ning, and now it's 
nearly ten ! My 
dear, this can't go 
on ! The day is 
over before one 
has time to 
breathe! There is 
no time for any- 
thing. It's all very 
well to say we live 
a hundred years 
now against the 
seventy of a thou- 
sand years ago ; 
but I'm convinced 
the years have 
grown shorter 
Why— just fancy, 
Maria— when I was a boy we used to have 
time between sunrise and sunset to write out 
one hundred and fifty lines of Virgit, or row 
three miles on the river, Why, I saw in a 
very old newspaper in the Museum lately, 
that an athlete could once run a mile on the 
cinder path in four minutes seventeen 
seconds; and it can't be done now by a 
champion under twenty-five minutes ! 
Halloa ! here's the carrier brought that 

curious old water- 

plied the City 
man, wearily. "Ab- 
solutely nothing. 
Got up at seven — 
hurried like mad 
over dressing and 
breakfast, and 
managed to get 
through them by 
ten, and rush to 
town— got to town 
at twelve - thirty, 
and sat down to 
write one short 
letter- — finished 
that by two — saw 
Brown about the 
cargo, and said a 
few words to him 
by four-thirty — 
read a telegram 
and two letters, 
fast as I could 
read, by five-thirty 
— gave instruc- 


clock I bought at 
the antiquity shop 
yesterday. . . , , 
You see those 
faint lines inside? 
They were to mark 
the hours — hours, 
though — no ! I*m 
sure the water 
would never drip 
through that little 
hole fast enough 
to sink one of those 
measurements in 
an hour. Let's try. 
. . . , Halloa ! 
While Fve been 
talking it's got to 
one o'clock a.m. ; 
and wc haven't had 
time for dinner to- 
day—I mean yes- 
terday. Maria! 
this can't go on ! 




Next Sunday the City man tried the water- 
clock, and it took five hours and three- 
quarters for it to register an hour ; so he had 
the hole at the bottom made larger — of more 
than five times its former capacity j and it 
registered the hours. 

And the spirit of him that had 
fashioned it hovered ever about 
the clock, waiting to speak what 
it knew ; and its time was soon 
to come. 



And the City man had grown old ; and his 
son was the City man now. And on the 
morning of Monday he would arise from bed 
and shave, and wash, and dress ; and when 
he had done these things it was Monday 
night, and he sat down and ate his breakfast ; 
and when he had finished his breakfast and 
drawn on his boots, it was Tuesday morning ; 
and when he had hurried to town, it was 
Tuesday night; and when he had opened 
one letter and one telegram, and said ten 
words to his clerk, it was Wednesday night ; 
and when he had dashed back home, it was 
Thursday morning ; and when he had eaten 
his dinner, it was Friday morning ; and then 
a short glance at the newspaper brought him 
to Friday night ; and then into bed by 
Saturday morning, to sleep until Monday 

And he became an elderly man ; and now 
he would arise from bed on the Monday 
morning, and when he had washed and 
dressed, it was Tuesday morning ; and when 
he had eaten his breakfast, it was Wednesday 
morning; so he could not go to town, as 
there was not time in the week. And men 

sat down dazed and paralyzed, for there was 
no time to do anything. And each week 
they enlarged the hole in the water-clock ; 
and at the end of each week it dripped too 
slowly, and fell behind. 

And a new Astronomer-Royal was ap- 
pointed; and in him was the soul, re-incar- 
nated, of him who had fashioned the clock 
in the dusk of prehistoric ages ; and at last 
he could tell what he knew. 

And he told all men that the thing they had 
felt was true : he told them how, for many 
thousands of years, the earth and all the 
universe had revolved ever faster and faster ; 
all with proportionate increase of velocity, so 
that the circuit of the moon kept its wonted 
time with the revolution of the earth; and 
the comets came and went at their expected 
seasons, as also occurred the eclipses ; so that 
no man could know that which was taking 
place, but only guess. And now each day 
they enlarged the hole in the water-clock j 
until the bowl was growing to be r?//hole; 
and now they could not bore fast enough In 

the hard stone ; and now 

J. F. Sullivan, 

1 1 






1Q 5 




p—p^HE accom- 
5ffi' \hlt panying illus- 
, r trations re- 
jgjffi present speci- 
mens of the 
mandragora (man dra ke ) 
root, which is found in 
some parts of Asia Minor 
and Syria. Many of these 
roots take the form of 
human beings, especially 
from the hips downward, 
and all have more or less 
the shape of a man or 
woman ; one of the 
specimens resembling a 
woman carrying a child 
under each arm. The 
peasants relate that when 
the roots are pulled up out of the ground they utter cries or shrieks like a person 
in pain. The roots are still used for spells and other witchcraft. For these specimens 
we are indebted to Mr, A. Caillard, Ramleh, Alexandria. Egypt* 


front vrsiv. 






unginal from 










Original from 


by Google 



/"* 1 Original from 



'* Kenneth Threw Himself Suddenly Upon Phillip." 

(A Wedding GtfL J 

by Google 

Original from 


(A Wife's Story.) By Leonard Outram, 

WILL have you ! I will 
have you ! I will ! I will ! 
I will ! ! " I can see his 
dark face now as he looked 
when he spoke those words. 
I remember noticing how 
pale his lips were as he hissed out through 
his clenched teeth : li Though I had to fight 
with a hundred men for you — though I had 
to do murder for your sake, you should be 
mine. In spite of your love for him, in 
spite of your hate for me, in spite of all 
your struggles, your tears, your prayers, you 
shall be mine, mine, only mine ! " 

I had known Kenneth Moore ever since I 
was a little child He had made love to me 
nearly as long. People spoke of us as 
sweethearts, and Kenneth was so confident 
and persevering that when my mother died 
and I found myself without a relative, with- 
out a single friend that I really cared for, I 
did promise him that I would one day be his 
wife. But that had scarcely happened, when 
Phillip Rut ley came to the village and — and 
everybody knows I fell in love with Aim, 

It seemed like Providence that brought 
Phillip to me just as I had given a half- 
consent to marry a man I had no love for, and 
with whom I could never have been happy, 

I had parted from Kenneth at the front 
gate, and he had gone off to his home crazy 
with delight because at last I had given way, 
It was Sunday evening late in November, 
very dark, very cold, and very foggy. He had 
brought me home from churchy and he kept 

me there at the gate pierced through and 
through by the frost, and half choked by the 
stifling river mist> holding my hand in his 
own and refusing to leave me until I 
promised to marry him. 

Home was very lonely since mother died. 
The farm had gone quite wrong since we 
lost father. My near friends advised me to 
wed with Kenneth Moore, and all the village 
people looked upon it as a settled thing. It 
was horribly cold, too, out there at the gate 
— and —and that was how it came about that 
I consented. 

I went into the house as miserable as 
Kenneth had gone away happy. I hated 
myself for having been so weak, and I hated 
Kenneth because I could not love him. The 
door was on the latch ; I went in and flung it 
to behind me, with a petulant violence that 
made old Hagar, who was rheumatic and 
had stayed at home that evening on account 
of the fog, come out of the kitchen to see 
what was the matter. 

"It's settled at last," I cried, tearing off 
my bonnet and shawl ; " I'm to be Mrs. 
Kenneth Moore. Now are you satisfied ? " 

" It's best so — I'm sure it's much best so," 
exclaimed the old woman : lt but, deary-dear ! " 
she added as I burst into a fit of sobbings 
u how can I be satisfied if you don't be ? " 

I wouldn't talk to her about it What was 

the good ? She'd forgotten long ago how the 

heart of a girl like me hungers for its true 

mate, and lion frightful is the thought of 

giving ui usclf W&'BwwiTone does not love ! 

Vol v— 15* 



Hagar offered condolence and supper, but 
I would partake of neither ; and I went up 
to bed at once, prepared to cry myself to 
sleep, as other girls would have done in such 
a plight as mine. 

As I entered my room with a lighted candle 
in my hand, there came an awful crash at 
the window — the glass and framework were 
shivered to atoms, and in the current of air 
that rushed through the room, my light went 
out Then there came a c cackling, breaking 
sound from the branches of the old apple 
tree beneath tny window ; then a scraping on 
the bricks and window-ledge ; then more 
splintering of glass and window- frame : the 
blind broke away at the top, and my toilet 
table was overturned — the looking-glass 
smashing to pieces on the floor, and I was 
conscious that someone had stepped into the 

At the same moment the door behind me 
was pushed open, and Hagar, frightened out 
of her wits, peered in with a lamp in her 

By its light I first saw Phillip Rutley. 

A well-built^ manly, handsome young 
fellow, with bright 
eyes and light, 
close-cropped curly 
hair, he seemed 
like a merry hoy 
who had just 
popped over a wall 
in search of a 
cricket ball rather 
than an intruder 
who had broke into 
the house of two 
lone women in so 
alarming a manner. 

My fear yielded 
to indignation when 
I realized that it 
was a strange man 
who had made his 
way into my room 
with so little cere- 
mony, but his first 
words — or rather 
the way in which 
he spoke them— 
disarmed me. 

11 I beg ten thousand pardons, Pay for 
all the damage. It's only my balloon !" 

" Good gracious ! ,J ejaculated Hagar. 

My curiosity was aroused, I went forward 
to the shattered window. 

" Your balloon ! Did you come down in a 
balloon ? Where is it ? '* 

" All safe outside," replied the aeronaut 
consolingly* " Not a bad descent, consider- 
ing this confounded — I beg pardon — this 
confound-/'^ fog + Thought I was half a 
mile up in the air. Opened the valve a* 
little to drop through the cloud and discover 
my location. Ran against your house and 
anchored in your apple tree. Have you any 
men about the place to help me get the gas 

We fetched one of our farm labourers, and 
managed things so well* in spite of the dark- 
ness, that about midnight we had the great 
clumsy thing lying upon the lawn in a state 
of collapse. Instead of leaving it there with 
the car safely wedged into the apple-tree, 
until the morning light would let him work 
more easily, Rutley must needs u finish the 
job right offj" as he said, afid the result of 
this was that while he was standing in the car a 
bough suddenly broke and he was thrown to 
the ground, sustaining such injuries that we 
found him senseless when we ran to help him. 

We carried him into the drawing-roon% by 
the window of which he had fallen, and when 
we got the doctor to him, it was considered 


best that he should remain with us that night, 
How could we refuse him a shelter? The 
nearest inn was a long way off: and how 
could he be moved there among people who 
would not care for him, when the doctor said 
it v:as nrpbable that ijie_.. poor fellow was 
seriously hurl internally? 



We kept him with us that night ; yes, and 
for weeks after. By Heaven's mercy he will 
be with me all the rest of my life- 
It was this unexpected visit of Phillip's, 
and the feeling that grew between us as I 
nursed him well and strong again, that 



brought it about that I told Kenneth Moore, 
who had become so repugnant to rne that I 
could not bear to see him or hear him speak, 
that I wanted to be released from the pro- 
mise he had wrung from me that night at the 
garden gate. 

His rage was terrible to witness, He saw 
at once that my heart was given to someone 
else, and guessed who it must be; for, of 
course, everybody knew about our visitor 
from the clouds. He refused to release me 
from my pledge to him, and uttered such 
wild threats against poor Phillip, whom he 
had not seen, and who, indeed, had not 
spoken of love to me at that time, that it 
precipitated my union with his rival. One 
insult that he was base enough to level at 
Phillip and me stung me so deeply, that I 
went at once to Mr. Rutley and told him how 

it was possible for evil minds to misconstrue 
his continuing to reside at the farm. 

When I next met Kenneth Moore I was 
leaving the registrar's office upon the arm of 
my husband, Kenneth did not know what 
had happened, but when he saw us walking 
openly together, his face assumed 
an expression of such intense 
malignity, that a great fear for 
Phillip came like a chill upon 
my heart, and when we were 
alone together under the roof 
that might henceforth harmlessly 
cover us both, I had but one 
thought, one intense desire — to 
quit it for ever in secret with 
the man I loved, and leave no 
foot-print behind for our enemy 
to track us by, 

It was now* that Phillip told 
me that he possessed an inde- 
pendent fortune, by virtue of 
w T hich the world lay spread out 
before us for our choice of a 

" Sweet as have been the 
hours that I ha%'e passed here — 
precious and hallowed as this 
little spot on the wide earth's 
surface must ever be to me/' said 
my husband, " I want to take 
you away from it and show you 
many goodly things you have as 
yet hardly dreamed of. We will 
not abandon your dear old home, 
but we will find someone to 
take care of it for us, and see 
what other paradise we can dis- 
cover in which to spend our 
life-long honeymoon." 
I had never mentioned to Phillip the name 
of Kenneth Moore, and so he thought it a 
mere playful caprice that made me say : — 

" Let us go, Phillip, no one knows where — 
not even ourselves. Let Heaven guide us in 
our choice of a resting-place. Let us vanish 
from this village as if we had never lived in 
it. Let us go and be forgotten," 

He looked at me in astonishment, and 
replied in a joking way :— 

"The only means I know of to carry out 
your wishes to the letter, would be a noc- 
turnal departure, as I arrived— that is to say, 
in my balloon*" 

" Yes, Phillip, yes ! " I exclaimed eagerly, 
Ki in your balloon, to-night, in your balloon ! n 

Oriplnal from 
Tj^^jg^Jn.-fft!^4f^ *>y the reservoir of 
the '^sSVdlFks W i Nfettlwene l the balloon wa- 



inflated, and the car loaded with stores for 
our journey to unknown lands. The great 
fabric swayed and struggled in the strong 
breeze that blew over the hills, and it was 
with some difficulty that Phillip and I took 
our seats. All was in readiness, when Phillip, 
searching the car with a lantern, discovered 
that we had not with us the bundle of rugs 
and wraps which I had got ready for 
carrying off. 

" Keep her steady, boys ! " he cried. " I 
must run back to the house." And he leapt 
from the car and disappeared in the darkness. 

It was weird to crouch there alone, with 
the great balloon swaying over my head, each 
plunge threatening to dislodge me from the 
seat to which I clung, the cords and the 
wicker-work straining and creaking, and the 
swish of the silk sounding like the hiss of a 
hundred snakes. It was alarming in no 
small degree to know how little prevented 
me from shooting up solitarily to take an 
indefinite place among the stars. I confess 
that I was nervous, but I only called to the 
men who were holding the car to please take 
care and not let me go without Mr. Rutley. 

The words were scarcely out of my mouth 
when a man, whom we all thought was he, 
climbed into the car and hoarsely told them 
to let go. The order was obeyed and the 
earth seemed to drop away slowly beneath 
us as the balloon rose and drifted away 
before the wind. 

" You haven't the rugs, after all ! " I ex- 
claimed to my companion. He turned and 
flung his arms about me, and the voice of 
Kenneth Moore it was that replied to me : — 

44 1 have you, I swore I would have you, 
and I've got you at last ! " 

In an instant, as I perceived that I was 
being carried off from my husband by the 
very man I had been trying to escape, I 
seized the grapnel that lay handy and flung 
it over the side. It was attached to a long 
stout cord which was fastened to the body of 
the car, and by the violent jerks that ensued 
I knew that I was not too late to snatch at 
an anchorage and the chance of a rescue. 
The balloon, heavily ballasted, was drifting 
along near the ground with the grappling-iron 
tearing through hedges and fences and trees, 
right in the direction of our farm. How I 
prayed that it might again strike against the 
house as it did with Phillip, and that he 
might be near to succour me ! 

As we swept along the fields the grapnel, 
taking here and there a secure hold for a 
moment or so, would bring the car side down 
to the earth, nearly jerking us out, but we 

both clung fast to the cordage, and then the 
grapnel would tear its way through and the 
balloon would rise like a great bird into 
the air. 

It was in the moment that one of these 
checks occurred, when the balloon had 
heeled over in the wind until it lay almost 
horizontally upon the surface of the ground, 
that I saw Phillip Rutley standing in the 
meadow beneath me. He cried to me as 
the car descended to him with me clinging 
to the ropes and framework for my life : — 

" Courage, dearest ! You're anchored. 
Hold on tight. You won't be hurt" 

Down came the car sideways, and struck 
the ground violently, almost crushing him. 
As it rebounded he clung to the edge and 
held it down, shouting for help. I did not 
dare let go my hold, as the balloon was 
struggling furiously, but I shrieked to Phillip 
that Kenneth Moore had tried to carry me 
off, and implored him to save me from that 
man. But before I could make myself 
understood, Kenneth, who like myself had 
been holding on for dear life, threw himself 
suddenly upon Phillip, who, to ward off a 
shower of savage blows, let go of the car. 

There was a heavy gust of wind, a tearing 
sound, the car rose out of Phillip's reach, 
and we dragged our anchor once more. The 
ground flew beneath us, and my husband was 

I screamed with all my might, and prepared 
to fling myself out when we came to the earth 
again, but my captor, seizing each article that 
lay on the floor of the car, hurled forth, with 
the frenzy of a madman, ballast, stores, water- 
keg, cooking apparatus, everything, indis- 
criminately. For a moment this unburdening 
of the balloon did not have the effect one 
would suppose — that of making us shoot 
swiftly up into the sky, and I trusted that 
Phillip and the men who had helped us at 
the gas-works had got hold of the grapnel 
line, and would haul us down ; but, looking 
over the side, I perceived that we were flying 
along unfettered, and increasing each minute 
our distance from the earth. 

We were off, then, Heaven alone could 
tell whither ! I had lost the protection of my 
husband, and fallen utterly into the power of 
a lover who was terrifying and hateful to me. 

Away we sped in the darkness, higher and 
higher, faster and faster ; and I crouched, 
half-fainting, in the bottom of the car, while 
Kenneth Moore, bending over me, poured 
his horrible love into my ear : — 

44 Minnie ! My Minnie ! Why did you 
try to play Ifl^l.^^tlNlP^QlT y ou know your 



old playmate better than to suppose he would 
give you up ? Thank your stars, girt, you 
are now quit of that scoundrel, and that the 
very steps he took to ruin you have put it 
in my power to save you from him and from 
your wilful self. ,T 

I forgot that he did not know Phillip and 
I had been married that morning, and, 
indignant that he should speak so of my 
husband, I accused him in turn of seeking 
to destroy me- How dared he interfere with 
me ? How dared he speak ill of a man who 
was worth a thousand of himself — who had 
not persecuted me all my life, who loved 
me honestly and truly, and whom I loved 
with all my soul ? I called Kenneth Moore 
a coward, a cruel, cowardly villain, and com- 
manded him to stop the balloon, to let me 
go hack to my home — back to Phillip Rutley, 
who was the only man I could ever love in 
the whole wide world ! 

" You are out of your senses, Minnie," he 
answered, and he clasped me tightly 
in his arms, while the balloon 
mounted higher and higher, " You 
are angry with me now, but when 
you realize that you are mine for 
ever and cannot escape, you will for- 
give me, and be grateful to me -yes, 
and love me, for loving you so wclh' 

t£ Never ! " I cried, " never ! You 
are a thief! You have stolen me, 
and I hate you ! I shall always hate 
you. Rather than endure you> I will 
make the balloon fall right down 
down, and we will both be dashed to 

I was so furious with him that I 
seized the valve-line that swung near 
me at the moment, and tugged at it 
with all my might. He grasped my 
hand, but I wound the cord about 
my arms, held on to it with my teeth, 
and he could not drag it from me. 
In the struggle we nearly overturned 
the car. I did not care, I would 
gladly have fallen out and lost my 
life now that I had lost Phillip. 

Then Kenneth took from his 
pocket a large knife and unclasped 
it I laughed aloud, for I thought 
he meant to frighten me into sub- 
mission. Rut I soon saw what he 
meant to do, , He climbed up the 
cordage and cut the valve ■ line 

" Now you are conquered ! " he 
cried, " and we will voyage together 
to the world's end." 

I had risen to my feet and watched him, 
listened to him with a thrill of despair ; but 
even as his triumphant words appalled me 
the car swayed down upon the side opposite 
to where I stood — the side where still hung 
the long line with the grapnel — and I saw the 
hands of a man upon the ledge ; the arms, 
the head, and the shoulders of a man, of a 
man who the next minute was standing in 
the car, I fast in his embrace: Phillip Rutley, 
my true love, my husband ! 

Then it seemed to me that the balloon 
collapsed, and all things melted, and I was 
whirling away — down, down, down ! 

How long I was unconscious I do not 
know, but it was daylight when I opened 
my eyes. It was piercingly cold— snow 
was falling, and although I lay in Phillip's 
arms with his coat over me, while he sat 
in his shirt-sleeves holding me. On the 
other side stood Kenneth Moore. He aLso 
was in his shirt-sleeves. His coat also had 

Original from 



been devoted to covering me. Both those 
men were freezing there for my sake, and I 
was ungrateful enough to shiver. 

I need not tell you that I gave them no 
peace until they had put their coats on again. 
Then we all crouched together in the bottom 
of the car to keep each other warm. I 
shrank from Kenneth a little, but not much, 
for it was kind of him — so kind and generous 
— to suffer that awful cold for me. What 
surprised me was that he made no opposition 
to my resting in Phillip's arms, and Phillip 
did not seem to mind his drawing close to 

But Kenneth explained : — 

" Mr. Rutley has told me you are already 
his wife, Minnie. Is that true ? " 

I confirmed it, and asked him to pardon 
my choosing where my heart inclined me. 

" If that is so," he said, " I have little to 
forgive and much to be forgiven. Had I 
known how things stood, I loved you too well 
to imperil your happiness and your life, and 
the life of the man you prefer to me." 

"But the danger is all over now," said I; 
" let us be good friends for the future." 

"We may at least be friends," replied 
Kenneth ; and I caught a glance of some 
mysterious import that passed between the 
men. The question it would have led me to 
ask was postponed by the account Phillip 
gave of his presence in the balloon-car — how 
by springing into the air as the grapnel 
swung past him, dragged clear by the rising 
balloon, he had caught the irons and then 
the rope, climbing up foot by foot, swinging 
to and fro in the darkness, up, up, until the 
whole length of the rope was accomplished 
and he reached my side. Brave, strong, 
dear Phillip ! 

And, now, once more he would have it 
that I must wear his coat. 

" The sun's up, Minnie, and he'll soon put 
warmth into our bones. I'm going to have 
some exercise. My coat will be best over 

Had it not been so excruciatingly cold we 
might have enjoyed the grandeur of our sail 
through the bright, clear heavens, the big 
brown balloon swelling broadly above us. 
Phillip tried to keep up our spirits by calling 
attention to these things, but Kenneth said 
little or nothing, and looked so despondent 
that, wishing to divert his thoughts from his 
disappointment concerning myself, which I 
supposed was his trouble, I heedlessly blurted 
out that I was starving, and asked him to 
give me some breakfast 

Then it transpired that he had thrown out; 

of the car all the provisions with which we 
had been supplied for our journey. 

The discovery took the smiles out of 
Phillip's merry face. 

"You'll have to hold on a bit, little 
woman," said he. " When we get to a way- 
station or an hotel, we'll show the refresh- 
ment contractors what sort of appetites are 
to be found up above." 

Then I asked them where we were going ; 
whereabouts we had got to ; and why we 
did not descend. Which elicited the fact 
that Kenneth had thrown away the instru- 
ments by which the aeronaut informs himself 
of his location and the direction of his 
course. For a long time Phillip playfully 
put me off in my petition to be restored to 
terra firma^ but at last it came out that the 
valve-line being cut we could not descend, 
and that the balloon must speed on, mount- 
ing higher and higher, until it would probably 
burst in the extreme tension of the air. 

"Soon after that," said Phillip, with a 
grim, hard laugh, " we shall be back on the 
earth again." 

We found it difficult to enjoy the trip after 
this prospect was made clear. Nor did 
conversation flow very freely. The hours 
dragged slowly on, and our sufferings 

At last Phillip made up his mind to 
attempt a desperate remedy. What it was 
he would not tell me, but, kissing me 
tenderly, he made me lie down and covered 
my head with his coat. 

Then he took off his boots, and then the 
car creaked and swayed, and suddenly I felt 
he was gone out of it. He had told me not 
to look out from under his coat ; but how 
could I obey him ? I did look, and I saw 
him climbing like a cat up the round, hard 
side of the balloon, clinging with hands and 
feet to the netting that covered it. 

As he mounted, the balloon swayed over 
with his weight until it was right above him 
and he could hardly hold on to the cords 
with his toes and his fingers. Still he crept 
on, and still the great silken fabric heeled 
over, as if it resented his boldness and would 
crush him. 

Once his foothold gave way, and he 
dropped to his full length, retaining only his 
hand-grip of the thin cords, which nearly cut 
his fingers in two under the strain of his 
whole weight. I thought he was gone; I 
thought I had lost him for ever. It seemed 
impossible he could keep his hold, and even 
if he did the weak netting must give way. 
It stretched down where he grasped it into & 




bag form and increased his distance from the 
balloon, so that he could not reach with his 
feet, although he drew his body up and 
made many a desperate effort to do so. 

Hul while I watched him in an agony of 
powerlessness to help, the balloon slowly 
regained the perpendicular, and just as 
Phillip seemed at the point of exhaustion 
his feet caught once more in the netting, and, 
with his arms thrust through the meshu* and 
twisted in and out for security, while his strong 
teeth also gripped the cord, I saw my hus- 
band in comparative safety once more, I 
turned to relieve my pent-up feelings to Ken- 
neth, but he was not in the car— only his 
boots. He had seen Phillip's peril, and 
climbed up on the other side of the balloon 
to restore the balance. 

But now the wicked thing served them 
another trick ; it slowly lay over on its side 
under the weight of the two men, who were 
now poised like panniers upon the extreme 
convexity of the silk. This was very perilous 
for both, but the change of position gave 
them a little rest, and Phillip shouted instruc- 
tions round to Kenneth to slowly work his in getting back I shudder to think of. It is 

Vol. v -rf. 

way hack to the car, while he 
(Phillip) would mount to the 
top of the balloon, the sur- 
face of which would be 
brought under him by Kenneths 
weight. It was my part to 
make them balance each other. 
This I did by watching the 
tendency of the balloon, and 
telling Kenneth to move to right 
or left as I saw it become 
necessary. It was very difficult 
for us all The great fabric 
wobbled ahout most caprici- 
ously, sometimes with a sudden 
turn that took us all by sur- 
prise, and would have jerked 
every one of us into space, had 
we not all been clinging fast to 
the cordage, 

At last Phillip shouted : — 
"Get ready to slip down 
steadily into the can" 

" I am ready," replied Kenneth. 
11 Then go ! " came from Phillip. 
" Easy does it ! Steady ! Don't 
hurry ! Get right down into the 
middle of the car, both of you, 
and keep quite still." 

We did as he told us, and 
as Kenneth joined me, we heard 
a faint cheer from above, and the 
message : — 
" Safe on the top of the balloon ! " 
"Look, Minnie, look! "cried Kenneth; 
and on a cloud-bank we saw the image of 
our balloon with a figure sitting on the sum- 
mit, which could only be Phillip Rut ley. 

41 Take care, my dearest ! take care ! " I 
besought him. 

" I'm all right as long as you two keep 
still," he declared ; but it was not so. 

After he had been up there about ten 
minutes trying to mend the escape-valve, so 
that we could control it from the car, a puff 
of wind came and overturned the balloon 
completely. In a moment the aspect of the 
monster was transformed into a crude resem- 
blance to the badge of the Golden Fleece — 
the car with Kenneth and me in it at onr 
end, and Phillip Rutley hanging from the 
other, the huge gas-bag like the body of the 
sheep of Colchis in the middle. 

And now the balloon twisted round and 

round as if resolved to wrench itself from 

Phillip's grasp, but he held on as a brave 

man Always ,4965. Wfci 1 ?- ■ * he alternative is 

t ^ lJ dW: J ^TA^%6Mble difficulty he had 




needless to recount it now. Many times I 
thought that both men must lose their lives, 
and I should finish this awful voyage alone. 
But in the end I had my arms around 
Phillip's neck once more, and was thanking 
God for giving him back to me. 

I don't think I half expressedmy gratitude 
to poor Kenneth, who had so bravely and 
generously helped to save him. I wish 
I had said more when I look back at tlat 
time now. But my love for Phillip made me 
blind to everything. 

Phillip was very much done up, and 
greatly dissatisfied with the result of his 
exertions ; but he soon began to make the 
best of things, as he always did. 

"I'm a selfish duffer, Minnie," said he. 
"All the good I've done by frightening 
you like this is to get myself splendidly 

" What, have you done nothing to the 
valve ? " 

" Didn't have time. No, Moore and I 
must try to get at it from below, though from 
what I saw before I started to go aloft, it 
seemed impossible." 

" But we are descending." 

" Eh ? " 

" Descending rapidly. See how fast we 
are diving into that cloud below ! " 

" It's true ! We're dropping. What can 
it mean ? " 

As he spoke we were immersed in a dense 
white mist, which wetted us through as if we 
had been plunged in water. Then suddenly 
the car was filled with whirling snow — thick 
masses of snow that covered us so that we 
could not see each other ; choked us so that 
we could hardly speak or breathe. 

And the cold ! the cold ! It cut us like 
knives ; it beat the life out of us as if with 

This sudden, overwhelming horror struck 
us dumb. We could only cling together and 
pray. It was plain that there must be a rent 
in the silk, a large one, caused probably by 
the climbing of the men, a rent that might 
widen at any moment and reduce the balloon 
to ribbons. 

We were being dashed along in a wild 
storm of wind and snow, the headlong force 
of which alone delayed the fate which seemed 
surely to await us. Where should we fall ? 
The world beneath us was near and {>alpable, 
yet we could not distinguish any object upon 
it. But we fell lower and lower, until our 
eyes informed us all in an instant, and we 
exclaimed together ; - 

11 We are falling into the sea ! " Yes, there 
it was beneath us, raging and leaping like a 
beast of prey. We should be drowned ! We 
must be drowned! There was no hope, 
none ! 

Down we came slantwise to the water. 
The foam from the top of a mountain-wave 
scudded through the ropes of the car. Then 
the hurricane bore us up again on its fierce 
breast, and — yes, it was bearing us to the 
shore ! 

We saw the coast-line, the high, red 
cliffs — saw the cruel rocks at their base ! 
Horrible ! Better far to fall into the water 
and drown, if die we must 

The balloon flew over the rugged boulders, 
the snow and the foam of the sea indis- 
tinguishable around us, and made straight 
for the high, towering precipice. 

We should dash against the jagged front ! 
The balloon was plunging down like a 
maddened bull, when suddenly, within 12ft. 
of the rock, there was a thrilling cry from 
Kenneth Moore, and up we shot, almost 
clearing the projecting summit. Almost- - 
not quite — sufficiently to escape death ; but 
the car, tripping against the very verge, hurled 
Phillip and myself, clasped in each other's 
arms, far over the level snow. 

We rose unhurt, to find ourselves alone. 

What had become of our comrade — my 
childhood's playfellow, the man who had 
loved me so well, and whom I had cast 
away ? 

He was found later by some fishermen — a 
shapeless corpse upon the beach. 

I stood awe-stricken in an outbuilding of 
a little inn that gave us shelter, whither they 
had borne the poor shattered body, and I 
wept over it as it lay there covered with the 
fragment of a sail. 

My husband was by my side, and his 
voice was hushed and broken, as he said 
to me: — 

" Minnie, I believe that, under (lod, 
our lives were saved by Kenneth Moore. 
Did you not hear that cry of his when we 
were about to crash into the face of the 
cliff? " 

"Yes, Phillip," I answered, sobbing, 
" and I missed him suddenly as the balloon 

" You heard the words of that parting 
cry ? " 

II Yes, oh, yes ! He said : ' A Wedding 
Gift ! Minnie ! A U 'eddhtg Gift ! " 

"And then?" 


doctrines of 


HE hand, like the 
face, is indicative 
or representative of 
character. Even 
those who find the 
path to belief in the 
the palmist and 
paved with innu- 
merable thorns, cannot tail to be 
interested in the illustrious manual 
examples, collected from the 
studios of various sculptors, which 
accompany this 

Mr, Adams- 
Acton, a distin- 
guished sculptor, 
tells me his belief 
that there is as 
great expression in 
the hand as in the 
face \ and another 
great artist, Mr, 
Alfred Gilbert, 
R,A., goes even a 
step further : he 
invests the bare 
knee with expres- 
sion and vital 
identity. There 
would, indeed, ap- 
pear to be no por- 
tion of the human 
frame which is in- 
capable of giving 
forth some measure 
of the inherent dis- 
tinctiveness of its 
owner. This is, I 
think, especially 
true of the hand. 
No one who was 
fortunate enough 


. /. r *i 


to observe the slen- 
der, tapering fin- 
gers and singular 
grace of the hand 
of the deceased 
Poet Laureate 
could possibly be- 
lieve it the ex- 
tremity of a coarse 
or narrow-minded 
person. In the ac- 
companying photo- 
graphs, the hand 
of a cool, yet en- 
thusiastic, ratioci- 
native spirit will be 
found to bear a 
palpable affinity to 
others whose pos- 
sessors come under 
this head, and yet 
be utterly antago- 
nistic to Carlyle's* 
or to another type, 
Cardinal Man- 

We have here 
spread out for our 
edification hands of 
majesty, hands of 
power ; of artistic 



creativeness ; of cunning ; hands of the 
ruler, the statesman, the soldier, the authbr, 
and the artist. To philosophers disposed to 


resolve a science from representative exam- 
ples here is surely no lack of matter. It 
TTDuld, on the whole, he difficult to garner 
from the century^s history a more glittering 
array of celebrities in all the various depart- 
ments of endeavour than is here presented. 

Kirst and foremost, entitled to precedence 
almost by a double right, for this cast 
antedates, with one exception, all the rest, 
are the hands of Her Majesty the Queen. 
They were executed in 1844, when Her 
Majesty had sat upon the throne but 

seven years, and, if I do not greatly err, in 
connection with the first statue of the Queen 
after her accession. They will no doubt 
evoke much interest when compared with 
the hand of the lamented Princess Alice, 
who was present at the first ceremony, an 
infant in arms of eight months. In addition 
to that of the Princess Alice, taken in 1872, 
we have the hands of the Princesses I^ouise 
and Beatrice, air three of whom sat for 
portrait statues to Sir Edgar Boehm, It A,, 



from whose studio, also, emanates the cast of 
the hand of the Prince of Wales, 

In each of the manual extremities thus 
presented of the Royal Family, similar 




Zoe, wife of the late Archbishop 
of York, which seems to breathe 
of Ionian mysticismand elegance. 



characteristics may be noticed The dark 
hue which appears ah the Surface of the 
hands of the two last -nam eel Princesses is 
not the fault of the photograph but of the 
casts/ which are, unfortunately, in a soiled 

It is a circumstance not a little singular, 
but the only cast in this collection which is 
anterior to the Queen's, itself appertains to 

MR, Gladstone's hand. 

One cannot dwell long upon this quality of 
grace and elegance without adverting to a 
hand which, if not the most wonderful among 
the hands masculine, is with one exception 
the most beautiful. When it is stated that 


Royalty, being none other than the hand of 
Caroline, sister of the first Napoleon, who 
also, it must not he forgotten, was a queen. 
It is purposely coupled in the photograph 
with that , of Anak, the famous French 
giant, in order to exhibit the exact degree 
of its^ deficiency in that quality which 
giants Inost 'and ladies least can afford 
to be complaisant over— size. Certainly it 
would be hard to deny it grace and exquisite 
proportion, in which it resembles an even 
more beautiful hand, that of the Greek lady, 


this cast of Mr. Gladstone's hand was 
executed by Mr. Adams - Acton, quite 
recently ; that one looks upon the hand not 
of a youth c f twenty, hut of an octogenarian, 
it is||4ita]j^|0fflJ|i|t T the epithet remark- 
able. Although the photograph is not wholly 




favourable to the comparison, yet in the 
original plaster it is possible at once to 
detect its similarity to the hand of Lord 
Beacons field. 

In truth, the hands of these statesmen 
have much in common. Yet, for a more 


striking resemblance between hands we 
must turn to another pair The sculptor 
tails attention to the eminently ecclesiastical 
character of the hand of Cardinal Manning. 
It is in every respect the hand of the ideal 
prelate. Yet its every attribute is common 
to one hand, and one hand only, in the 
whole collection, that of Mr. Henry Irving, 
the actor. The general conformation^ the 

protrusion of the metacarpal bones, the 
laxity of the skin at the joints, are character- 
istic of both, 

There could be no mistaking the bellicose 
traits visible in the hands of the two 
warriors — Lord Napier of Magdala and Sir 
Bartle Frere, Both bespeak firmness, hardi- 
hood, and command, just as I^ord Brougham's 



hand, which will be found represented on the 
next page, suggest the jurist, orator, and 
debater. But it can scarcely be said that the 
great musician is apparent in Liszt's band, 
which is also depicted on the following page. 
The fingers are short and corpulent, and the 
whole extremity seems more at variance with 




In this connection a gentleman, who had 
known the novelist in life, on being shown 


the abilities and temperament of the owner 
than any other represented in these casts, 
and, as a case which seems to completely 
baffle the reader of character, is one of the 
most interesting in the collection. 

Highly gruesome, but not less fascinating, 
are the hands of the late Wilkie Collins, 
with which we will conclude this month's 
section of our subject 

Lisrrs ham i) 

the cast, exclaimed : " Yes, those are the 
hands, I assure you ; none other could have 
written the ' Woman in White ! *" 


Note. — Thanks are due to Messrs. Hamo Thorney croft, R,A M A Jams- Acton, Onslow Ford, R>A +! 
1\ Brock, ILA*, W. R. Ingram, Atfrrd (Jilrjt-ri, R,A,, ]♦ 1\ Tussaud, Professor t. LanieVi, and A. H. 
Skinner, Secretary South Kensington Museum, for courtesies extended dining the com pi La t ion of this paper. 

(To fie continued. J 

by Google 

Original from 





if? 1 , ^s 

I were an author by profes- 
sion, I could make a pretty 
big book of the administrative 
mishaps which befell me during 
the three years I spent in 
( Corsica as legal adviser to the French Pre- 
fecture, Here is one which will probably 
amuse you : — 

I had just entered upon my duties at 
Ajaccio, One morning 1 was at the club, 
reading the papers which had just arrived 
from Paris, when the Prefect's man-servant 
brought me a note, hastily written in pencil : 
"Come at once ; I want you. We have got 
the brigand, Qua.stana." 1 uttered an excla- 
mation of joy, and went off as fast as I could 
to the Prefecture, I must tell you that, under 
the Empire, the arrest of a C'orsican handifio 
was looked upon as a brilliant exploit, and 
meant promotion, especially if you threw a 
certain dash of romance about it in your 
official report. 

Unfortunately brigands had become scarce. 
The people were getting more civilized and 
the vendetta was dying out. If by chance a 
man did kill another in a row, or do some- 

thing which made it 
advisable for him to 
keep clear of the police, 
he generally bolted to 
Sardinia instead of turn- 
ing brigand. This was 
not to our liking ; for 
no brigand, no promo- 
tion. However, our Prefect had succeeded 
in finding one ; he was an old rascal, 
Quastana by name, who, to avenge the murder 
of his brother, had killed goodness knows 
how many people. He had been pursued 
with vigour, but had escaped, and after a time 
the hue and cry had subsided and he had 
been forgotten. Fifteen years had passed, 
and the man had lived in seclusion ; but our 
Prefect, having heard of the affair and ob- 
tained a clue to his whereabouts, endeavoured 
to capture him, with no more success than 
his predecessor. We were beginning to 
despair of our promotion ; you can, there- 
fore, imagine how pleased 1 was to receive 
the note from my chief 

I found him in his study, talking very 
confidentially to a man of the true Corsican 
peasant type. 

"This is Quastana's cousin/ 1 said the 
Prefect to me, in a low tone, '* He lives in 
the little village of Solenzara, just above 
Porto-Vecchio, and the brigand pays him a 
visit every Sunday evening to have a game 
of $o*pa r Now, it seems that these two had 
some words the other Sunday, and this fellow 
has determined- to have revenge ; so he pro- 
poses to bapdh^ CQUsip^y^r. to justice, and, 
between IftU'-lma mcvrT*iicve he means it. 



But as I want to make the capture myself, 
and in as brilliant a manner as possible, it is 
advisable" to take precautions in order not 
to expose the Government to ridicule, That's 
what I want you for. You are quite a 
stranger in the country and nobody knows 
you ; I want you to go and see for certain if 
it really is Quastana who goes to this man's 

H But I have never seen this Quastana," 
I began. 

My chief pulled out his pocket-book and 
drew forth a photograph much the worse for 

"Here you are!" he exclaimed. "The 
rascal had the cheek to have his portrait 
taken last year at Porto-Vecchio ! " 

While we were looking at the photo the 
peasant drew near, and I saw his eyes 
flash vengefully ; but the look quickly 
vanished and his face resumed its usual 
stolid appearance. 

" Are you not afraid that the 
presence of a stranger will frighten 
your cousin, and make him stay 
away on the following Sunday ? " 
we iLslced * 

" No ! ■ replied the man, « He 
is too fond of cards. Besides, 
there are many new faces about 
here now on account of the 
shooting. I'll say that this 
gentleman has come for me to 
show him where the game is to 
be found." 

Thereupon we made an ap- 
pointment for the next Sunday, 
and the fellow walked off with- 
out the least compunction for 
his dirty trick. When he was 
gone, the Prefect impressed upon 
me the necessity for keeping 
the matter very quiet, because he 
intended that nobody else should 
share the credit of the capture. I 
assured him that I would not 
breathe a word, thanked him for 
his kindness in asking me to assist 

I got on the coach again, just a little elevated 
by the contents of a good-sized bottle, I 
found that 1 had a fresh travelling com- 
panion, who had taken a seat next to me. 
He was an official at Bastia, and I had 
already met him ; a man about my own age f 
and a native of Paris like myself. A decent 
sort of fellow. 

You are probably aware that the Admini- 
stration, as represented by the Prefect, etc., 
and the magistrature never get on well 
together; in Corsica it is worse than else- 
where. The seat of the Administration is at 
Ajaccio, that of the magistrature at Bastia ; 
we two therefore belonged to hostile parties. 
But when you are a long way from home and 
meet someone from your native place, you 
forget all else, and talk of the old country. 

We were fast friends in Jess than no time, 
and were consoling each other for being in 
" exile " as we termed it. The bottle of wine 
had loosened my tongue, and I soon told 

to go to 
of pro- 

him, and we separated 
our work and dream 

The next morning I set out in full shoot- 
ing costume, and took the coach which does 
the journey from Ajaccio to Bastia. For 
those who love Nature, there is no better 
ride in the world, but I was too busy with 
my castles in the air to notice any of the 
beauties of the landscape. 

At Bonifacio we stopped for dinner. When 


him, in strict confidence, that I was looking 
forward to going back to France to take up 
some good post as a reward for my share in 
the capture of Quastana, whom we hoped to 
arrest at his cousin's house one Sunday 
evening. When my companion got off the 
coach at Porto-Vecchio, we felt as though 
we hadilu¥W.niflsft^i^t.h*tfor years. 

Vol. v. — 17. 




I arrived at Solenzara between four and 
five o'clock. The place is populated in 
winter by workmen, fishermen, and Customs 
officials j but in summer everyone who can 
shifts his quarters up in the mountains 
on account of fever. The village was, there- 
fore, nearly deserted when I reached it that 
Sunday afternoon. 

I entered a small inn and had something 
to eat, while waiting for Matteo. Time 
went on, and the fellow did not put in an 
appearance ; 
the innkeeper 
began to look 
at me sus- 
piciously, and 
I felt rather 
At last there 
came a knock, 
and Matteo 

come to 
said, raising his 
hand to his 
hat. "Will 
you follow me 

We went 
outside. It 
was very dark 
and windy; 
we stumbled 
along a stony 
path for about 
three miles — 
a narrow path, 
full of small 
stones and 




with luxuriant 

vegetation, which prevented us from going 


" That's my house," said Matteo, pointing 
among the bushes to a light which was 
flickering at a short distance from us. 

A minute later we were confronted by a 
big dog, who harked furiously at us. One 
would have imagined that he meant to stop 
us going farther along the road. 

" Here, Bruccio, Brucciol " cried my guide : 
then, leaning towards me, he said : " That's 
Quas tana's dog. A ferocious animak He 
has no equal for keeping watch*" Turning to 
the dog again, he called out: "That's alt right, 
old fellow ! Do you take us for policemen ? " 

The enormous animal quieted down and 
came and sniffed around our legs. It was 
a splendid Newfoundland dog, with a thick, 
white, woolly coat which had obtained for 
him the name of Bruccio (white cheese). 
He ran on in front of us to the house, a 
kind of stone hut, with a large hole in the 
roof which did duty for both chimney and 

In the centre of the room stood a rough 
table, around which were several " seats" 
made of portions of trunks of trees> hacked 

into shape with 
a chopper, A 
torch stuck in 
a piece of 
wood gave a 
flickering light, 
around which 
flew a swarm 
of moths and 
other insects. 

At the table 
sat a man who 
looked like an 
Italian or Pro^ 
venial fisher- 
man, with a 
shrewd, sun- 
burnt, clean- 
shaven face- 
He was leaning 
over a pack 
of cards, and 
was enveloped 
in a cloud of 
tobacco smoke. 
(( Cousin 
Q u a s t a n a," 
said Matteo as 
we went in, 
** this is a 
who is going 
shooting with me in the morning* He will 
sleep here to-night, so as to be close to the 
spot in good time to-morrow," 

When you have been an outlaw and had to 
fly for your life, you look with suspicion upon 
a stranger. Quastana looked me straight in 
the eyes for a second ; then, apparently 
satisfied, he saluted me and took no further 
notice of me. Two minutes later the cousins 
were absorbed in a game of scopa. 

It is astonishing what a mania for card- 
playing existed in Corsica at that time — and 
it is probably the same now. The clubs and 
cafe were watched by the police, for the 
young ^Af^^tt^™ at a 8™ 




called bouilfette* In the villages it was the 
same ; the peasants were mad for a game at 
cards, and when they had no money they 
played for their pipes, knives, sheep — any- 

I watched the two men with great interest 
as they sat opposite each other, silently 
playing the game. They watched each 
other's movements* the cards either face 
downwards upon the table or carefully held 
so that the opponent might not catch a 
glimpse of them, and gave an occasional 
quick glance at their " hand M without losing 
sight of the other player's face. I was 
especially interested in watching Quastana* 
The photograph was a very good one, but 
it could not reproduce the sunburnt face, 
the vivacity and agility of movement, sur- 
prising in a man of his age^ and the hoarse, 
hollow voice peculiar to those who spend 
most of their time in solitude. 

Between two and three hours passed in this 
way, and I had 
some difficulty in 
keeping awake in 
the stuffy air of 
the hut and the 
long stretches of 
silence broken 
only by an occa- 
sional exclama- 
tion : M Seven- 
teen ! J " Eigh- 
teen ! *' From 
time to time I 
was aroused by a 
heavy gust of 
wind, or a dis- 
" pute between the 

Suddenly there 
was a savage 
bark from Bruc- 
cio, like a cry of 
alarm. We all 
sprang up, and 
Quastana rushed 
out of the door, 
returning an in- 
stant afterwards 
and seizing his 
gun. With an ex- 
clamation of rage 
he darted out of 
the door again 
and was gone, 
at one another in 

tell you we were on the ground, bound, and 
prisoners. In vain I tried to make the 
gendarmes understand who I was ; they 
would not listen to me. " That's all right ; 
you will have an opportunity of making an 
explanation when we get to Bastia." 

They dragged us to our feet and drove us 
out with the butt-ends of their carbines. 
Handcuffed, and pushed about by one and 
another, we reached the bottom of the slope, 
where a prison-van was waiting for us — a vile 
box, without ventilation and full of vermin — 
into which we were thrown and driven to 
Bastia, escorted by gendarmes with drawn 

A nice position for a Government official ! 

It was broad daylight when we reached 
Bastia, The Public Prosecutor, the colonel 
of the gendarmes, and the governor of the 
prison were impatiently awaiting us. I never 


"-^ . 


Matteo and I were looking 
surprise, when a dozen 
armed men entered and called upon us to 
surrender, And in less time than it takes to 

saw a man look more astonished than the 
corporal in charge of the escort^ as, with a 
triumphant' smita he led me to these gentle- 


£ tfffiPEi^W towar ds nie with 



all sorts of apologies, and take off the 

41 What! Is it you1 n exclaimed the 
Public Prosecutor. ** Have these idiots 
really arrested you 1 But how did it come 
about — what is the meaning of it ? " 

Explanations followed. On the previous 



day the Public Prosecutor had received a tele- 
gram from Porto Yecchio, informing him of 
the presence of Quastana in the locality, and 
giving precise details as to where and when 
he could be found. The name of Porto- 
Vecchio opened my eyes ; it was that travelling 
companion of mine who had played me this 
shabby trick ! He was the Prosecutor s 

" But, my dear sir," said the Public Pro- 
secutor, "whoever would have expected to 
see you in shooting costume in the house of 
the brigand's cousin ! We have given you 
rather a bad time of it, but I know you will 
not bear malice, and you will prove it by 
coming to breakfast with me," Then turn- 
ing to the corporal, and pointing to Matteo, 
he said : " Take this fellow away ; we will 
deal with him in the morning,* 

The unfortunate Matteo remained dumb 
with fright; he looked appealing!}* at me T 
and I, of course, could not do otherwise 
than explain matters. Taking the Prosecutor 
on one side, I told him that Matteo was really 
assisting the Prefect to capture the brigand ; 
but as I told him all about the matter, his face 
assumed a hard, judicial 

"I am sorry for the 
Prefecture," he said; "but 
I have Quastana's cousin, 
and I won't let him go \ 
He will be tried with 
some peasants, who are 
accused of having supplied 
the brigand with pro- 

"But I repeat that this 
man is really in the service 
of the Prefecture," I pro- 

"So much the worse 
for the Prefecture," said 
he with a laugh. * ( I am 
going to give the Adminis- 
tration a lesson it won't 
forget, and teach it not 
to meddle with what 
doesn't concern it. There 
is only one brigand in 
Corsica, and you want 
to take him ! He's my 
**■ game, I tell you. The 
Prefect knows that, yet 
he tries to forestall me ! 
Now I will pay him out. 
Matteo shall be tried ; 
he will, of course, appeal 
to your side ; there will be a great tondo, 
and the brigand will be put on his guard 
against his cousin and gentlemen of the 
Prefecture who go shooting." 

Well, he kept his word. We had to appear 
on behalf of Matteo, and we had a nice time 
of it in the court. I was the laughing-stock 
of the place. Matteo was acquitted, but he 
could no longer be of use to us, because 
Quastana was forewarned- He had to quit 
the country. 

As to Quastana, he was never caught. 
He knew the country, and every peasant was 
secretly ready to assist him ; and although 
the soldiers and gendarmes tried their best 
to take him, they could not manage it 
When I left the island he was still at liberty, 
and I have never heard anything about his 
capture sineelriginal from 



HE seal is an affable fellow^ though 
sloppy. He is friendly to man ; 
providing the journalist with copy, 
the diplomatist with lying prac- 
tice, and the punster with shock- 
ing oppor t li 11 1 ties. Ungrate f u 1 for 
these benefits, however, or per- 
haps savage at them, man responds 
by knocking the seal on the head 
his skin 
which the seal 
avenges by driving 
into the Bank- 
ruptcy Court with hills 
for his wife's jackets. The 
puns instigated by the seal 
are of a sort to make 
one long for the 
animal's ex- 
It is quite 
possible that 
this is really 

what the seal wants, because to become 

extinct and to occupy a place of honour 

beside the dodo is a distinction much 

coveted amongst the lower animals. 

The dodo was a squabby^ ugly, dumpy, 

not to say fat-headed, bird when it 

Ibt^fnBPfrcift^ 5 a hero of romance. 




aiming at j but personally I should prefer the extinction 
of the punster 

The punster is a low person, who refers to the 
awkwardness of the seal's gait by speaking of his not 
having his seal-legs, although a mariner — or a sealubber s 
as he might express it If you reply that, on the 
contrary, the seal's legs, such as they are, are very 
characteristic, he takes refuge in the atrocious 
admission, delivered with a French accent, that 
they are certainly very sealy legs. When he 
speaks of the messages of the English Govern- 
ment, in the matter of seal-catching in the 
B eh ring Sea, he calls it whitewashing the sealing, 
and explains that the " Behrings of this here 
observation lies in the application on it" I 
once even heard a punster remark that the 
Russian and American officials had got rather 
out of their Behrings, through an excess of seal 
on behalf of their Governments ; but he was a 
very sad specimen, in a very advanced stage, 
and he is dead now, I don't say that that remark sealed his fate, but I believe there 
are people who would say even that, with half a chance* 

Another class of frivoller gets his opportunity because it is customary to give various 
species of seals — divers species, one might say — inappropriate names. He tells you that 
if you look for sea-lions and sea -leopards, you will not see lions, nor even see leopards, but 
seal-lions and seal-leopards, which are very different. These are called lions and leopards 
because they look less like lions and leopards than any- 
thing else in the world ; just as the harp seal is so called 
because he has a broad mark on his back, which doesn't 
look like a harp. Look at Toby, the 
Patagonian sea-lion here, who has 
a large pond and premises to him- 
self. I have the greatest possible 
respect and esteem for Toby, 
but I shouldn't mistake him 
for a lion, in any circum- 
stances. With every wish to 
spare his feelings, one can 
only compare him to a very 
big slug in an overcoat, who 
has had the misfortune to 
fall into the water. Even his 
moustache isn't lion-like. 
Indeed, if he would only 
have a white cloth 
tucked round his neck, 
and sit back in that chair that stands over his pond, 
he would look very respectably human — and he cer- 
tainly wants a shave. 

Toby is a low-comedy sea-lion all over. When 
I set about organizing the Zoo Nigger Minstrels, 
Toby shall be corner-man, and do the big-boot dance. He does it now, capitally, You 
have only to watch him from behind as he proceeds along the edge of the pond, to see 
the big-boot dance in all its quaint humour, Toby's hind flappers exhale broad farce at 
every step, Toby is a cheerful and laughter-moving seal, and he would do capitally in a 
pantomime, if he were a little less damp, 

Toby is fond of music ; so are most other seals. The complete scale of the seal's 
preferences among the various musical instruments has not been fixed with anything 
like finality; but one thing is certain — that far aifljp |^y | tytyjWgfiStfV the rest of *^ e 




J 3* 


things designed to produce music and other noises, the seal prefers the bagpipes. This 
taste either proves the seal to be a better judge of music than most human Leings, or a 
worse one than any of the other animals, according as the gentle reader may be a native 
of Scotland or of somewhere in the remainder of the world. You may charm seals by the bag- 
pipes just as a snake k charmed by pipes with no bag. It 
has even been suggested that all the sealing vessels leaving this 
country should carry bag pipes with them, and I can see no 
sound objection to this course — so long as they take 
bagpipes, I could also reconcile myself to a general 
extrusion of concertinas for this useful purpose — or 
for any other; not to mention barrel organs. 

By -the -bye, on looking at Toby again I think we 
might do something better for him than give him a 
mere part in a pantomime ; his fine moustache and 
his shiny hair almost point to a qualification for man- 
agership. Nothing more is wanted — except , perhaps, 
a fur-trimmed coat and a well-oiled hat — to make a 
very fine manager indeed, of a certain sort 

I don't think there is a Noah's ark seal — unless 
the Lowther Arcade theology has been amended 
since I had a Noah's ark. As a matter of fact, I 
don't see what business a seal would have in the 
ark, where he would find no fish to eat, and would 
occupy space wanted by a more necessitous animal 
who couldn't swim* At any rate, there was origi- 
nally no seal in my Noah's ark, which dissatisfied 
me, as I remember, at the time ; what I wanted 
not being so much a Biblical illustration as a 
handy zoological collection. So I appointed the 

dove a seal, and he did very well indeed when I had pulled off his legs (a little inverted v). 
I argued, in the first place, that as the dove went out and found nothing to alight on, the 
legs were of no use to him ; in the second place, that since, after ail 5 the dove flew away and 
never returned, the show would be pretty well comple^[^flH^u|t|fl|i|tii|g^^, thirdly, that if, on 






any emergency, a dove were imperatively required, he would do quite well Trithout his legs — 
looking, indeed, much more like a dove, as welt as much more like a seal So, as the dove was 
of about the same size as the cow, he made an excellent seal ; his bright yellow colour (Noah's 
was a yellow dove on the authority of all orthodox arks) rather lending an air of distinction 
than otherwise. And when a rashly funny uncle, who under- 
stood wine, observed that I was laying down my crusted old- 
yeliow seal because it wouldn't stand up, I didn't altogether 
understand him. 

Toby is a good soul, and you soon make his acquaintance. 
He never makes himself common, however. As he swims 
round his circular pond, behind the high rails, he won't have any- 
thing to say to a stranger -anybody he has not seen before. 
But if you wait a few minutes he will swim round several 
times, see you often, and become quite affable. There is 
nothing more intelligent than a tame seal, and I have heard 
people regret that seals 

can't talk, which is non- 
sense. When a seal can 

make you understand him / '$f /jf/ff iM without it, talking is a noisy super- 

fluity- Toby can say many things 
without the necessity of talking. 
Observe his eyes fixed 
upon you as he ap- 
proaches for the first time. 
He turns and swaps past 
with his nose in the air. 
" Pooh, don't know you," he is saying. 
But wait. He swims round once, and, 
the next time of passing, gives you a 
little more notice. He lifts his head 
and gazes at you, inquisitively, but 
severely. " Who's that person ? n 
he asks, and goes on his round. 

Next time he rises even 
a little more, He even 
smiles, slightly, as he re- 
cognises you from the 
corner of his eye. 
" Ah ! seen you 
before, I fancy." 
And as he flings 
over into the side 
stroke he beams at 
you quite tolerantly. 

j by Google 




He comes round again; but this time he smiles genially, 
and nods, " 'Morning ! " he says, in a manner of a 
moderately old acquaintance. But see next time ; he is 
an old, intimate friend by this ; a chum. He flings his 
fin-flappers upon the coping, leans toward the bars with 
an expansive grin and says : " Well, old boy, and how 
are you ? " — as cordially and as loudly as possible with- 
out absolutely speaking the words. He will stay thus for 
a few moments' conversation, not entirely uninfluenced, I 
fear, by anticipations of fish. Then, in the case of your 
not being in the habit of carrying raw fish in your 
pockets, he takes his leave by the short process of 
falling headlong into his pond and flinging a good 
deal of it over you. There is no difficulty 
becoming acquainted with Toby. If you v*ill only 
wait a few minutes he will slop his pond over 
you with all the genial urbanity of an intimate 
relation. But you must wait for the proper 
forms of etiquette, 

The seal's sloppiness is 

annoying. 1 
would have a 
tame seal my- 
self if he could 
go about with- 
out setting 

things afloat r7% f 

A wet seal is good pocoy i 


to pat and fondle^ and if he climbs on your knees he is 
positively irritating, I suppose even a seal would get dry 
if you kept him out of water long enough; but can you 
keep a seal out of water while there is any within five 

miles for him 
you for it if 


A dog shakes himself 
dry after a swim, and, if he be 
your own dog, he shakes the 
water over somebody else, which 
is sagacious and convenient ; but 
a seal doesn't shake himself > and 
can't understand that wet will lower the value of any 
animal's caresses. Otherwise a seal would often be 
preferable to a dog as a domestic pet. He doesn't 
howl all night He never attempts to chase 
cats — seeing the hopelessness of the thing. 
You don't need a license for him ; and 
there is little temptation to. a loafer to steal 
him, owing to the restricted market for 
house-seals, I have frequently heard of 
a dog being engaged to field in a single- 
wicket cricket match. I should like to 
play somebody a single-wicket cricket 
match, with a dog and a seal to field for 
me. The seal, having no legs to speak of — merely feet — - 
would have to leave the running to the dog, but it could 
catch. You may see magnificent catching here when 
Toby and Fanny — the Cape sea-lton (or lioness), over 
by the turkeys — have their snacks of fish. Sutton 

to get into ? And would the seal respect 
you did ? 

Second, who is Keeper of the Seals (which is a fine 


\\ from 

Vol, v.-iS. 

r 34 


-rather like a Cabinet Minister), is then the source of a sort of pyrotechnic shower of fish, 

every one of which is caught and swallowed promptly and 
neatly, no matter how or where it may fall Fanny, by the 
way, is the most active seal possible ; it is only on extremely 
rare occasions that she indulges in an interval of comparative 

rest, to scratch her head with her 
hind fooi and devise fresh gym- 
nastics* But, all through the day, 
Fanny never forgets Sutton, nor 
his shower of fish, and half her 
evolutions include a glance at the 
door whence he is wont to emerge, 
and a sort of suicidal fling back 
into the pond in case of his non- 
appearance, all which proceedings 
the solemn turkeys regard with 
increasing amazement, 
Toby, however, pro- 
vides the great seal- 
fee ding show. 
Toby has a perfect 

throw for him. He dives off the 
shuffles up the inclined plane for 
more fish, amid the sniggers of 
spectator for Toby's march has 
no claim to magnificence, lie 
tumbles himself uncere- 
moniously off the plat- 
form, he clambers up and 
kisses Sutton (keeping 
his eye on the basket), 
and all for fish. It is 
curious to contrast the 
perfunctory affection with 
which Toby gets over the 
kiss and takes his reward, 
with the genuine fondness 

set of properties and ap- 
pliances for his perfor- 
mance, including a chair, 
a diving platform, an 
inclined plane lead- 
ing thereunto, and a 
sort of plank isthmus 
leading to the chair. 
He climbs up on to 
the chair, andj leaning 
over the back, catches as 
many fish as Sutton will 
chair for other fish, He 

ginal from 




of his gaze after Sutton when he leaves — with some fish remaining for other seals. Toby 
is a willing worker ; he would gladly have the performance twice as long, while as to an 

eight hours' day ! 

The seals in the next pond, Tommy and Jenny, are insulted with the epithet of 

" common" seals; but Tommy and Jenny are really 
very respectable, and if a seal do happen to be bcrn 
only Pkoca vitulina^ he can't really help it, and doesn't 
deserve humiliation so long as he behaves himself, 
Phoca viiulina has as excellent power of reason as any 
other kind of seal — brain power, acquired, no doubt, 
from a continual fish diet Tommy doesn't feel aggrieved 
at the slight put upon him, however, and 
. ^ has a proper 

notion of his 
own import- 
ance. Watch 

him rise from a mere floating 

patch— slowly, solemnly, and portentously, to take a 

look round. He looks to the left — nothing to interest a 

well-informed seal ; to the front — nothing ; to the right 

everything is in order, the weather is only so-so, but the 

rain keeps off, and there are no signs of that dilatory 

person with the fish; so Tommy flops in again, and 

becomes once more a floating patch, having conducted 

his little airing with proper dignity and self-respect 

Really, there is nothing common in the manners of 

Tommy ; there is, at any rate, one piece of rude 

mischief which he is never guilty of, but which many 

of the more aristocratic kinds of seal practise habitually. 

He doesn't throw stones. 

He doesn't look at all like a stone-thrower, as a 

matter of fact ; but he -and other seals — can throw 

stones nevertheless. If you chase a seal over a shingly 

beach, he will scuffle away at a surprising 
pace, flinging up the stones into your face with 
his hind feet. This assault, directed toward 
a well-intentioned person who only wants to 
bang him on the head with a club, is a piece 
of grievous ill-humour, particularly on the 
part of the crested seal, who can blow up a 
sort of bladder on the top of his head which 
protects him from assault ; and which also 
gives him, by-the-bye, an intellectual and 
large-brained appearance not his due, for all 
his fish diet, I had been thinking of 
making some sort of a joke about an aristo- 
cratic seal with a crest on it — beside a fine 
coat with no arms — but gave up the under- 
taking on reflecting that no real swell— probably not even a parvenu- would heave 

U~lfi7.:„i„ ™:*u u: "r^. ^ IKIHIA KJ A I IKJIWPD^ITV 


half-bricks with his feet. 






All this running away and hurling 

of clinkers may seem to agree ill with 

the longing after extermination lately 

hinted at; hut, in fact, it only proves the 

presence of a large amount of human 

nature in the composition of the seal. 

From motives of racial pride the seal 

aspires to extinction and a place beside 

the dodo, but in the spirit of many other 

patriots, he wants the other seals to be 

exterminated first ; wants the individual 

honour, in fact, of being himself the very 

last seal, as well as the corporate honour 

of extinction for the species. This is why, 

if he live in some other part, he takes such 

delighted interest in news of wholesale 

seal slaughter in the Pacific ; and also why he skedaddles from the well-meant bangs of the 

genial hunter— these blows, by the way, being technically described as sealing-whacks. 

The sea-lion, as I have said, is not like a lion ; the sea-leopard is not like a leopard ; but 

the sea-elephant, which is another sort of seal, and a large one, may possibly be considered 

sufficiently like an elephant to have been evolved, in the centuries, from an elephant who 

has had the ill-luck to fall into the sea. He 
hasn't much of a trunk left, but he often finds 
himself in seas of a coldness enough to nip off 
any ordinary trunk ; but his legs and feet are not 

What the previous adventures of the sea-lion 
may have been in the matter of evolution, I am 
at a loss to guess> unless there is anything in the 
slug theory ; but if he keep steadily on, and 
cultivate his moustache and his stomach with 

== — - ' — " — ^*W»a^ 


proper assiduity, I have no doubt of 
his one day turning up at a seaside 
resort and carrying on life in future 
as a fierce old German out for a bathe. 
Or the Cape sea-lion, if only he continue 
his obsequious smile and 
his habit of planting his fore- 
flappers on the ledge before 
him as he rises from the water, 
may some day, in his pos- 
terity, be promoted to a 
place behind the counter of 
a respectable drapery ware- 
house, there to sell the skins 
his relatives grow. 

But after all, any phocine ambition, either for extinction or higher evolution, may be an 
^pty thing; because the seal is very comfortable ayiQfJAN&.LrpJCife^fiEf a few of his 




advantages. He has a very fine fur overcoat, with an admirable lining of fat, which, as 
well as being warm, permits any amount of harmless falling and tumbling aboutj such as is 
suitable to and inevitable with the seal's want of shape. He can 
enjoy the sound of bagpipes* which is a privilege accorded to few. 
Further, he can shut his ears when he has had enough, which 

is a faculty man may envy him. 

His wife, too, always has a first- 
rate sealskin jacket, made in 

one piece, and he hasn't to pay 

for it. He can always run down 

to the seaside when so disposed, 

although the run is a waddle and 

a flounder ; and if he has no 

tail to speak of — well, he can't 

have it frozen off. All these 

things are better than the empty 

honour of extinction ; better 

than evolution into bathers vho 

would be drownable, and trans- 
lation into unac- 
customed s i tuat 1 on s — 
with the peril of a 
week's notice. Where- 
fore let the seal per- 
petuate his race — his 
obstacle race, as one 
might say, seeing him 
flounder and flop. 


by Google 

Original from 

The Major's Commission. 

By W. Clark Russell. 

Y name is Henry Adams, and 
in 1854 I was mate of a 
ship of 1,200 tons named the 
Jessamy Bride. June of that 
year found her at Calcutta 
with cargo to the hatches, and 
ready to sail for England in three or four 

I was walking up and down the ship's 
long quarter-deck, sheltered by the awning, 
when a young apprentice came aft and said 
a gentleman wished to speak to me. I saw 
a man standing in the gangway ; he was a 
tall, soldierly person, about forty years of 
age, with iron-grey hair and spiked mous- 
tache, and an aquiline nose. His eyes were 
singularly bright and penetrating. He im- 
mediately said : — 

" I wanted to see the captain ; but as 
chief officer you'll do equally well. When 
does this ship sail ? " 

" On Saturday or Monday next" 

He ran his eye along the decks and then 
looked aloft : there was something bird-like 
in the briskness of his way of glancing. 

" I understand you don't carry passengers ? " 

"That's so, sir, though there's accommoda- 
tion for them." 

" I'm out of sorts, and have been sick for 
months, and want to see what a trip round 
the Cape to England will do for me. I 
shall be going home, not for my health only, 
but on a commission. The Maharajah of 
Ratnagiri, hearing I was returning to England 
on sick-leave, asked me to take charge of a 
very splendid gift for Her Majesty the Queen 
of England. It is a diamond, valued at 
fifteen thousand pounds." 

He paused to observe the effect of this 
communication, and then proceeded : — 

" I suppose you know how the Koh-i-noor 
was sent home ? " 

" It was conveyed to England, I think," 
said I, " by H.M.S. Medea, in 1850." 

44 Yes, she sailed in April that year, and 
arrived at Portsmouth in June. The glorious 
gem was intrusted to Colonel Mackieson and 
Captain Ramsay. It was locked up in a 
small box along with other jewels, and each 

officer had a key. The box was secreted in 
the ship by them, and no man on board the 
vessel, saving themselves, knew where it was 

" Was that so ? " said I, much interested. 

44 Yes ; I had the particulars from the 
commander of the vessel, Captain Lockyer. 
When do you expect your skipper on 
board ? " he exclaimed, darting a bright, sharp 
look around him. 

" I cannot tell. He may arrive at any 

44 The having charge of a stone valued at 
fifteen thousand pounds, and intended as a 
gift for the Queen of England, is a deuce of a 
responsibility," said he. " I shall borrow a 
hint from the method adopted in the case of 
the Koh-i-noor. I intend to hide the stone 
in my cabin, so as to extinguish all risk, 
saving, of course, what the insurance people 
call the' acts of God. May I look at your 
cabin accommodation?" 


I led the way to the companion hatch, and 
he followed me into the cabin. The ship 
had berthing room for eight or ten people 
irrespective of the officers who slept aft. But 
the vessel made no bid for passengers. She 
left them to Blackwall Liners, to the splendid 
ships of Green, Money Wigram, and Smith, 
and to the P. & O. and other steam 
lines. The overland route was then the 
general choice ; few of their own decision 
went by way of the Cape. No one had 
booked with us down to this hour, and we 
had counted upon having the cabin to our- 

The visitor walked into every empty berth, 
and inspected it as carefully as though he 
had been a Government surveyor. He beat 
upon the walls and bulkheads with his cane, 
sent his brilliant gaze into the corners and 
under the bunks and up at the ceiling, and 
finally said, as he stepped from the last of the 
visitable cabins : — 

44 This decides me. I shall sail with you." 

I bowed and said I was sure the captain 
would be glad of the pleasure of his com- 




"I presume," said hej "that no objection 
will be raised to my bringing a native carpenter 
aboard to construct a secret place, as in the 
case of the Koh-i-noor, for the Maharajah's 
diamond ? " 

"I don't 
think a native 
carpenter would 
be allowed to 
knock thi: ship 
about," said I. 

11 Certainly 
not A little 
secret receptacle 
— big enough 
to receive this," 
said he, putting 
his hand in his 
side pocket and 
producing a 
square Morocco 
casej of a size 
to berth a brace- 
let or a large 
brooch. " The 
construction of 
a nook to con- 
ceal this will 
not be knocking 
your ship 

u It's a ques- 
tion for the cap- 
tain and the 
agents, sir," 
said I 

He replaced 
the case, whose 

bulk was so inconsiderable that it did not 
bulge in his coat when he had pocketed it, 
and said, now that he had inspected the ship 
and the accommodation, he would call at 
once upon the agents* He gave me his card 
and left the vessel 

The card bore the name of a military 
officer of some distinction. Enough if, in 
this narrative of a memorable and extraor- 
dinary incident, I speak of him as Major 
Byron Hood. 

The master of the Jessamy Bride was Cap- 
tain Robert North. This man had, three 
years earlier, sailed with me as my chief mate ; 
it then happened I was unable to quickly 
obtain command, and accepted the offer of 
mate of the Jessamy £ride 3 whose captain, 
I was surprised to hear, proved the shipmate 
who had been under me, but who, some 
money having been left to him, had 
purchased an interest in the firm to which 


the ship belonged. We were on excellent 
terms ; almost as brothers indeed. He never 
asserted his authority, and left it to my 
own judgment to recognise his claims. I 

am happy to 
know he had 
never occasion 
to regret his 
friendly treat- 
ment of me* 

He came on 
board in the 
afternoon of that 
day on which 
Major Hood 
had visited the 
ship, and was 
full of that 
gentleman and 
his resolution to 
carry a costly 
diamond round 
the Cape under 
sail, instead of 
making his obli- 
gation as brief 
as steam and 
the old desert 
route would 

"iVe had a 
long talk with 
him up at the 
agents," said 
Captain North. 
"He don't seem 

*' Suffering 
perhaps/' said I. 
gentlemanly person. He 



from his 

told Mr, Nicholson he was twice wounded, 
naming towns which no Christian man could 
twist his tongue into the sound of." 

" Will he be allowed to make a hole in the 
ship to hide his diamond in?" 

(i He has agreed to make good any damage 
done, and to pay at the rate of a fare and a 
half for the privilege of hiding the stoned 

" Why doesn't he give the thing into your 
keeping, sir ? This jackdaw-like hiding is a 
sort of reflection on our honesty, isn't it, 

He laughed and answered, " No ; I like 
such reflections for my part. Who wants to 
be burdened with the custody of precious 
things belonging to other people? Since 
he's to have the honour of presenting the 
diamond, let t ha iwqnjf irf. taking care of it be 
his ; Urn ship's enough for me." 



" He'll be knighted, I suppose, for deliver- 
ing this stone," said I. " Did he show it to 
you, sir ?" 

" No." 

" He has it in his pocket" 

" He produced the case," said Captain 
North. "A thing about the size of a muffin. 
Where'll he hide it? But we're not to be 
curious in that direction," he added, smiling. 

Next morning, somewhere about ten 
o'clock, Major Hood came on board with 
two natives ; one a carpenter, the other his 
assistant. They brought a basket of tools, 
descended into the cabin, and were lost 
sight of till after two. No ; I'm wrong. I 
was writing at the cabin table at half-past 
twelve when the Major opened his door, 
peered out, shut the door swiftly behind him 
with an extraordinary air and face of caution 
and anxiety, and coming along to me asked 
for some refreshments for himself and the 
two natives. I called to the steward, who 
filled a tray, which the Major with his own 
hands conveyed into his berth. Then, 
some time after two, whilst I was at the 
gangway talking to a friend, the Major and 
the two blacks came out of the cabin. 
Before they went over the side I said: — 

" Is the work finished below, sir?" 

"It is, and to my entire satisfaction," he 

When he was gone, my friend, who was 
the master of a barque, asked me who that 
fine-looking man was. I answered he was a 
passenger, and then, not understanding that 
the thing was a secret, plainly told him what 
they had been doing in the cabin, and why. 

" But," said he, " those two niggers'll 
know that something precious is to be 
hidden in the place they've been making." 

" That's been in my head all the morning," 
said I. 

"Who's to hinder them," said he, "from 
blabbing to one or more of the crew? 
Treachery's cheap in this country. A rupee 
will buy a pile of roguery.'' He looked 
at me expressively. " Keep a bright look- 
out for a brace of well-oiled stowaways," 
said he. 

"It's the Major's business," I answered, 
with a shrug. 

When Captain North came on board he 
and I went into the Major's berth. We 
scrutinized every part, but saw nothing to 
indicate that a tool had been used or a plank 
lifted. There was no sawdust, no chip of 
wood : everything to the eye was precisely as 
before. No man will say we had not a right 
to look : how were we to make sure, as 

captain and mate of the ship for whose safety 
we were responsible, that those blacks under 
the eye of the Major had not been doing 
something which might give us trouble by- 
and-by ? 

" Well," said Captain North, as we stepped 
on deck, " if the diamond's already hidden, 
which I doubt, it couldn't be more snugly 
concealed if it were twenty fathoms deep in 
the mud here." 

The Major's baggage came on board on 
the Saturday, and on the Monday we sailed. 
We were twenty-four of a ship's company all 
told : twenty-five souls in all, with Major 
Hood. Our second mate was a man named 
Mackenzie, to whom and to the apprentices 
whilst we lay in the river I had given 
particular instructions to keep a sharp look- 
out on all strangers coming aboard. I had 
been very vigilant myself too, and altogether 
was quite convinced there was no stowaway 
below, either white or black, though under 
ordinary circumstances one never would think 
of seeking for a native in hiding for Europe. 

On either hand of the Jessamy Bride's 
cabin five sleeping berths were bulkheaded 
off. The Major's was right aft on the star- 
board side. Mine was next his. The captain 
occupied a berth corresponding with the 
Major's, right aft on the port side. Our 
solitary passenger was exceedingly amiable 
and agreeable at the start and for days after. 
He professed himself delighted with the 
cabin fare, and said it was not to be bettered 
at three times the charge in the saloons of 
tlje steamers. His drink he had himself 
laid in : it consisted mainly of claret and 
soda. He had come aboard with a large 
cargo of Indian cigars, and was never without 
a long, black weed, bearing some tongue- 
staggering, up-country name, betwixt his 
lips. He was primed with professional 
anecdote, had a thorough knowledge of 
life in India, both in the towns and 
wilds, had seen service in Burmah and 
China, and was altogether one of the most 
conversible soldiers I ever met : a scholar, 
something of a wit, and all that he said and 
all that he did was rendered the more 
engaging by grace of breeding. 

Captain North declared to me he had never 
met so delightful a man in all his life, and 
the pleasantest hours I ever passed on the 
ocean were spent in walking the deck in 
conversation with Major Byron Hood. 

For some days after we were at sea no 
reference was made either by the Major or 
ourselves to the Maharajah of Ratnagiri's 
splendid^ f.jgi|iat ^tp Ll¥R?t R^^J est y the Q ueen - 




The captain and I and Mackenzie viewed it 
as tabooed matter : a thing to be locked up in 
memory, just as, in fact, it was hidden away 
in some cunningly-wrought receptacle in the 
Major's cabin* One day at dinner, howei T er, 
when we were about a week out from Cal- 
cutta, Major Hood spoke of the Maharajah's 
gift. He talked freely about it ; his face was 
flushed as though the mere thought of the 
thing raised a passion of triumph in his 
spirits. His eyes shone whilst he enlarged 
upon the beauty and value of the stone. 

The captain and I exchanged looks; the 
steward was waiting upon us with cocked 
ears, and that menial, deaf expression of face 
which makes you know every word is being 
greedily listened to. We might therefore make 
sure that before the first dog-watch came 
round all hands would have heard that the 
Major had a diamond in his cabin intended 
for the Queen of England, and worth fifteen 
thousand pounds. Nay, they'd hear even more 
than that ; for in the course of his talk about 
the gem the Major praised the ingenuity of the 
Asiatic artisan, whether Indian or Chinese, 
and spoke of the hiding-place th<- two natives 
had contrived for the diamond as an example 
of that sort of juggling skill in carving which 
is found in perfection amongst the Japanese. 

I thought this candour highly indiscreet; 

charged too with menace- A matter gains 
in significance by mystery. The Jacks 
would think nothing of a diamond being in 
the ship as a part of her cargo, which might 
include a quantity of specie for all they 
knew, But some of them might think more 
often about it than was at all desirable when 
they understood it was stowed away under a 
plank, or was to be got by tapping about for 
a hollow ec!v> 3 or probing with the judgment 
of a carpenter when the Major was on deck 
and the coast aft all clear. 

We had been three weeks at sea ; it was 
a roasting afternoon, though I cannot exactly 
remember the situation of the ship. Our 
tacks were aboard and the bowlines triced 
out, and the vessel was scarcely looking up 
to her course, slightly heeling away from a 
fiery fanning of wind off the starboard bow, 
with the sea trembling under the sun in 
white-hot needles of broken light, and a 
narrow ribbon of wake glancing off into a 
hot blue thickness that brought the horizon 
within a mile of us astern. 

I had charge of the deck from twelve to 
four. For an hour past the Major, cigar in 
mouth, had been stretched at his ease in 
a folding chair ; a book lay beside him on the 
skylight bur he scarcely glanced at it. I had 
pau^j|^(ad|t|^^Ef!irfTpnce or twice, but he 

Vol. v— igu 

1 A 2 



ihowed no disposition to chat. Though he 
lay in the most easy lounging posture 
imaginable, I observed a res' less, singular 
expression in his face, accentuated yet by the 
looks he incessantly directed out to sea, or 
glances at the deck forward, or around at the 
helm, so far as he might move his head 
without shifting his attitude. It was as 
though his mind were in labour with some 
scheme. A man might so look whilst work- 
ing out the complicated plot of a play, or 
adjusting by the exertion of his memory the 
intricacies of a novel piece of mechanism. 

On a sudden he started up and went 

A few minutes after he had left the deck, 
Captain North came up from his cabin, and 
for some while we paced the planks together, 
There was a pleasant hush upon the ship ; 
the silence was as refreshing as a fold of 
coolness lifting off the sea. A spun yarn 
winch was clinking on the forecastle; from 
alongside rose the music or fretted waters. 

I was talking to the captain on some detail 

of the ship's furniture, when 
Major Hood came running up 
the companion steps, his face 
as white as his waistcoat, his 
head uncovered, every muscle 
of his countenance rigid, as with 

" Good God, captain ! " cried 
he, standing in the companion 
** what do you think has hap- 
pened ? " Before we could fetch 
a breath he cried: ^Someone's 
stolen the diamond ! " 

I glanced at the helmsman who 
stood at the radiant circle of 
wheel staring with open mouth 
and eyebrows arched into his hair. 
The captain, stepping close to 
Major Hood, said in a low, steady 
voire : — 

" What's this you tell me, sir? 3 ' 

II The diamond's gone ! " ex- 
claimed the Major, fixing his shin- 
ing eyes upon me, whilst I 
observed that his fingers convul- 
sively stroked his thumbs as 
though he were rolling up pellets 
of bread or paper, 

" Do you tell me the diamond's 
been taken from the place you 
hid it in ? " said Captain North, 
still speaking softly, but with deli- 

* £ The diamond never was 
hidden," replied the Major, who 
continued to stare at me* "It was in a 
portmanteau, Tkafs no hiding-place ! " 

Captain North- fell back a step. "Never 
was hidden ! ^ he exclaimed. " Didn f t you 
bring two native workmen aboard for no 
other purpose than to hide it ? " 

"It never was hidden," said the Major, 
now turning his eyes upon the captain. "I 
chose it should be believed it was undJs- 
coverably concealed in some part of my 
cabin, that I might safely and conveniently 
keep it in my baggage, where no thief would 
dream of looking for it. Who has it ? " he 
cried with a sudden fierceness, making a step 
full of passion out of the companion-way ; 
and he looked under knitted brows towards 
the ship's forecastle. 

Captain North watched him idly for a 
moment or two, and then with an abrupt 
swing of his whole figure, eloquent of defiant 
resolution, he stared the Major in the face, 
and said in a quiet, level voice : — 

"I shan^^^lg.^ help you. If it's 

gone, i*'-i rtBWNA tti4H*R5frF» not ;l baIe of 




wool Whoevers been clever enough to find 
it will know how to keep it" 

" I must have it ! " broke out the Major. 
" It's a gift for Her Majesty the Queen, It T s 
in this ship. I look to you, sir, as master of 
this vessel, to recover the property which some 
one of the people under your charge has 
robbed me of ! " 

" Til accompany you to your cabin," said 
the captain ; and they went down the steps* 

I stood motionless, gaping like an idiot 
into the yawn of hatch down which they had 
disappeared, I had been so used to think 
of the diamond as cunningly hidden in the 
Major's berth, that his disclosure was abso- 
lutely a shock with its weight of astonishment. 
Sm .11 wonder that neither Captain North 
nor I had observed any marks of a workman's 
tools in the Major's berth. Not but that it 
was a very ingenious stratagem, far cleverer to 
my way of thinking than any subtle, secret 
burial of the thing. To think of the Major 
and his two Indians sitting idly for hours in 
that cabin, with the captain and myself all 
the while supposing they were fashioning 
some wonderful contrivance or place 
fot concealing the treasure in ! And still, 
for all the Major's cunning, the stone was 
gone ! Who had stolen it ? The only 
fellow likely to prove the thief was the 
steward, not because he was more or less of 
a rogue than any other man in the ship, but 
because he was the one person who, by 
virtue of his office, was privileged to go in 

and out of the 
sleeping places as 
his duties required. 
I was pacing the 
deck, musing into 
a sheer muddle 
this singular busi- 
ness of the Maha- 
rajah of Ratnagiri's 
gift to the Queen 
of England, with 
all sorts of dim, 
unformed suspi- 
cions floating loose 
in my brains round 
the central fancy 
of the fifteen thou- 
sand pound stone 
there, when the 
captain returned. 
He was alone. He 
stepped up to me 
hastily, and said : — 
•I" " He swears the 

diamond has been 
stolen. He showed me the empty case." 

" Was there ever a stone in it at all ? ■ 
said F. 

" I don't think that," he answered, quickly ; 
"there's no motive under Heaven to be 
imagined if the whole thing's a fabrication." 
" What then, sir ? ' 

41 The case is empty, but I've not made up 
my mind yet that the stone's missing/' 
11 The man's an officer and a gentleman," 
" I know, I know ! " he interrupted, " but 
still, in my opinion, the stone's not missing. 
The long and short of it is," he said, after a 
very short pause, with a careful glance at the 
skylight and companion hatch, "his be- 
haviour isn't convincing enough. Some- 
thing's^- wanting in his passion and his 
tl Sincerity ! " 

" Ah ! I don't intend that this business 
shall trouble me, He angrilv required me 
to search the ship for stowaways. Bosh ! 
The second mate and steward have re- 
peatedly overhauled the lazarette : there's 
nobody there," 

"And if not there, then nowhere else," 
said I. u Perhaps he's got the forepeak in 
his head." 

u I'll not have a hatch lifted/' he exclaimed, 
warmly, "nor will I allow the crew to be 
troubled. There's been no theft Put it 
that the stone is stolen. Who's going to 
find it in a forecastle full of men — a thing as 



gone, indeed, whoever may have it. But 
theres no go in this matter at all/ 5 he added, 
with a short, nervous laugh. 

We were talking in this fashion when the 
Major joined us ; his features were now com- 
posed. He gazed sternly at the captain and 
said, loftily : — 

** What steps are you prepared to take in 
this matter ? ,J 

"Non^, sir." 

His face darkened. He looked with a 
bright gleam in his eyes at the captain, 
then at me : his gaze was piercing with 
the light in it. Without a word he stepped 
to the side and, folding his arms, stood 

I glanced at the captain ; there was some- 
thing in the bearing of the Major that gave 
shape, vague indeed, to a suspicion that had 
cloudily hovered about my thoughts of the 
man for some time past. The captain met 
my glance, but he did not interpret it. 

When I was relieved at four o'clock by 
the second mate, I entered my berth, and 
presently, hearing the captain go to his 
cabin, went to him and made a proposal. 
He reflected, and then answered : — 

"Yes; get it 

After some talk 
I went forward and 
told the carpenter 
to step aft and bore 
a hole in the bulk- 
head that separated 
the Major's berth 
from mine* He 
took the necessary 
tools from his chest 
and followed me. 
The captain was 
now again on deck, 
talking with the 
Major; in fact, de- 
taining him in con- 
versation, as had 
been preconcerted. 
I went into the 
Major's berth, and 
quickly settled upon 
a spot for an eye- 
hole. The carpen- 
ter then went to 
work in my cabin, 
and inafewminutes 
bored tin orifice 
large enough to 
enable me to 
command a large L H-rlm caspknter 

portion of the adjacent interior* I swept the 
sawdust from the deck in the Major's berth, 
so that no hint should draw his attention to the 
hole, which was pierced in a corner shadowed 
by a shelf* I then told the carpenter to 
manufacture a plug and paint its extremity of 
the colour of the bulkhead* He brought me 
this plug in a quarter of an hour, It fitted 
nicely, and was to be withdrawn and inserted 
as noiselessly as though greased, 

I don't want you 10 suppose this Peeping- 
Tom scheme was at all to my taste, albeit my 
own proposal ; but the truth is, the Major's 
telling us that someone had stolen his diamond 
made all who lived aft hotly eager to find out 
whether he spoke the truth or not; for, 
if he had been really robbed of the stone, 
then suspicion properly rested upon the 
officers and the steward, which was an 
infernal consideration : dishonouring and in- 
flaming enough to drive one to seek a remedy 
in even a baser device than that of secretly 
keeping watch on a man in his bedroom. 
Then, again, the captain told me that the 
Major, whilst they talked when the carpenter 
was at work making the hole, had said he 
would give notice of his loss to the police at 

Cape Town (at 
mi which place we 
were to touch), and 
declared he'd take 
care no man went 
ashore — from Cap- 
tain North himself 
down to the 
youngest appre n t ice 
—till every indivi- 
dual, every sea- 
chest, every locker, 
drawer, shelf and 
box, bunk, bracket 
and crevice had 
been searched by 
qualified rumma- 

On this the day 
of the theft, nothing 
more was sa id 
about the diamond : 
that is, after the 
captain had em- 
phatically informed 
Major Hood that 
he meant to take 
no steps whatever 
in the matter, I 
had expected to 
find the Majo: 
RS | T fullen and silent at 



dinner ; he was not, indeed, so talkative as 
usual, but no man watching and hearing him 
would have supposed so heavy a loss as 
that of a stone worth fifteen thousand 
pounds, the gift of an Eastern potentate to 
the Queen of England, was weighing upon 
his spirits. 

It is with reluctance I tell you that, 
nfter dinner that day, when he went to 
his cabin, I softly withdrew the plug 
and watched him. I blushed whilst 
thus acting, yet I was determined, for 
my own sake and for the sake of my 
shipmates, to persevere. I spied noth- 
ing noticeable saving this : he sat in a 
folding chair and smoked, hut every now 
and again he withdrew his cigar from 
his mouth and talked to it with a singu- 
lar smile. It was a smile of cunning, 
that worked like some baleful, magical 
spirit in the fine high breeding of his 
features; changing his looks just as a 
painter of incomparable skill might 
colour a noble, familiar face into a dia- 
bolical expression, amazing those who 
knew it only in its honest and manly 
beauty. I had never seen that wild, 
grinning countenance on him before, 
and it was rendered the more remark- 
able by the movement of his lips 
whilst he talked to himself, hut in- 

A week slipped by j time after time 
I had the man under observation j 
often when I had charge of the deck 
I'd leave the captain to keep a look 
out, and steal below and watch Major 
Hood in his cabin, 

It was a Sunday, I remember. I was 
lying in my bunk half dozing — we 
were then, I think, about a three-weeks' 
sail from Table Bay — when I heard the 
Major go to his cabin. I was already sick 
of my aimless prying ; and whilst I now lay I 
thought to myself : "111 sleep; what is the 
good of this trouble ? I know exactly what 
I shall see. He is either in his chair, 
or his bunk, or overhauling his clothes, 
or standing, cigar in mouth, at the open 
porthole." And then I said to myself: 
" If I don't look now I shall miss the 
only opportunity of detection that may 
occur," One is often urged by a sort of 
instinct in these matters. 

I got up, almost as through an impulse of 
habit, noiselessly withdrew the plug, and 
looked. The Major was at that instant 
standing with a pistol-case in his hand : he 
opened it as my sight went to him, took out 

one of a brace of very elegant pistols, put 
down the case, and on his apparently touching 
a spring in the butt of the pistol, the silver 
plate that ornamented the extremity sprang 
open as the lid of a snuff-box would, and 
something small and bright dropped into his 
hand. This he examined with the peculiar 


cunning smile I have before described; but 
owing to the position of his hand, I could 
not see what he held, though I had not the 
least doubt that it was the diamond. 

I watched him breathlessly. After a few 
minutes he dropped the stone into the hollow 
butt-end, shut the silver plate, shook the 
weapon against his ear as though it pleased 
him to rattle the stone, then put it in its case, 
and the case into a portmanteau, 

I at once went on deck, where I found the 
captain, and reported to him what I had 
seen. He viewed me in silence, with a stare 
of astonishment and incredulity. What I 
had seen, he said, was not the diamond, I 
told him the thing that had dropped into the 
Major's hand was bright , and, as I thought, 
sparkled, but it aas so held I could not 



I was talking to him on this extraordinary 
affair when the Major came on deck. The 
captain said to me: "Hold him in chat. I'll 
judge for myself," and asked me to describe 
how he might quickly find the pistol-case. 
This I did, and he went below. 

I joined the Major, and talked on the first 
subjects that entered my head. He was 
restless in his manner, inattentive, slightly 
flushed in the face ; wore a lofty manner, 
and being half a head taller than I, glanced 
down at me from time to time in a con- 
descending way. This behaviour in him was 
what Captain North and I had agreed to call 
his "injured air." He'd occasionally put it 
on to remind us that he was affronted by the 
captain's insensibility to his loss, and that 
the assistance of the police would be de- 
manded on our arrival at Cape Town. 

Presently looking down the skylight, I 
perceived the captain. Mackenzie had charge 
of the watch. I descended the steps, and 
Captain North's first words to me were : — 

" It's no diamond ! " 

II What, then, is it ? " 

11 A common piece of glass not worth a 
quarter of a farthing." 

41 What's it all about, then ? " said I. 
"Upon my soul, there's nothing in Euclid 
to beat it. Glass ? " 

" A little lump of common glass ; a frag- 
ment of bull's-eye, perhaps." 

"What's he hiding it for?" 

" Because," said Captain North, in a soft 
voice, looking up and around, "he's mad !" 

"Just so!" said I. "That I'll swear to 
noWy and I've been suspecting it this fort- 
night past." 

" He's under the spell of some sort of 
mania," continued the captain ; " he believes 
he's commissioned to present a diamond to 
the Queen ; possibly picked up a bit of stuff 
in the street that started the delusion, then 
bought a case for it, and worked out the rest 
as we know." 

" But why does he want to pretend that 
the stone was stolen from him ? " 

" He's been mastered by his own love for 
the diamond," he answered. " That's how I 
reason it. Madness has made his affection 
for his imaginary gem a passion in him." 

" And so he robbed himself of it, you 
think, that he might keep it?" 

" That's about it," said he. 

After this I kept no further look-out upon 
the Major, nor would I ever take an oppor- 
tunity to enter his cabin to view for myself 
the piece of glass as the captain described it, 
thouch curiositv was often hot in me. 

We arrived at Table Bay in twenty-two 
days from the date of my seeing the Major 
with the pistol in his hand. His manner 
had for a week before been marked by an 
irritability that was often beyond his control. 
He had talked snappishly and petulantly at 
table, contradicted aggressively, and on two 
occasions gave Captain North the lie ; but 
we had carefully avoided noticing his manner, 
and acted as though he were still the high 
bred, polished gentleman who had sailed with 
us from Calcutta. 

TI12 first to come aboard were the 
Customs people. They were almost imme- 
diately followed by the harbour - master. 
Scarcely had the first of the Custom House 
officers stepped over the side when Major 
Hood, with a very red face, and a lofty, 
dignified carriage, marched up to him, and 
said in a loud voice : — 

" I have been robbed during the passage 
from Calcutta of a diamond worth fifteen 
thousand pounds, which I was bearing as a 
gift from the Maharajah of Ratnagiri to Her 
Majesty the Queen of England." 

The Customs man stared with a lobster- 
like expression of face : no image could 
better hit the protruding eyes and brick-red 
countenance of the man. 

" I request," continued the Major, raising 
his voice into a shout, "to be placed at once 
in communication with the police at this 
port. No person must be allowed to leave 
the vessel until he has been thoroughly 
searched by such expert hands as you and 
your confreres no doubt are, sir. I am Major 
Byron Hood. I have been twice wounded. 
My services are well known, and I believe 
duly appreciated in the right quarters. Her 
Majesty the Queen is not to suffer any 
disappointment at the hands of one who has 
the honour of wearing her uniform, nor am I 
to be compelled, by the act of a thief, to 
betray the confidence the Maharajah has re- 
posed in me." 

He continued to harangue in this manner 
for some minutes, during which I observed 
a change in the expression of the Custom 
House officers' faces. 

Meanwhile Captain North stood apart in 
earnest conversation with the harbour-master. 
They now approached ; the harbour-master, 
looking steadily at the Major, exclaimed : — 

" Good news, sir ! Your diamond is 
found ! " 

" Ha ! " shouted the Major. " Who has it ? " 

" You'll find it in your pistol-case," said the 

The Major gazed round at us with his wild, 




t 4Uit 

iff &»*[&*-> J/U&itt 


briglit eyes, with a face a- work with the con- 
flict of twenty mad passions and sensations. 
Then bursting into a loud, insane laugh, he 
caught the harbour-master by the arm, and 
in a low voice and a sickening, transforming 
leer of cunning, said : u Come, let's go and 
look at it" 

We went below. We were six, including 
two Custom House officers. We followed 

the poor madman, who grasped 
the .harbour-master's arm, and 
on arriving at his cabin we 
stood at the door of it. He 
seemed heedless of our pres- 
ence, but on his taking the 
pistol -case from the port- 
manteau, the two Customs 
men sprang forward- 

s< That must be searched by 
us/ 1 one cried, and in a minute 
they had it* 

With the swiftness of ex- 
perienced hands they found 
and pressed the spring of the 
pistol, the silver plate flew 
open, and out dropped a frag- 
ment of thick, common glass, 
just as Captain North had 
described the thing. It fell 
upon the deck* The Major 
sprang, picked it up, and 
pocketed it 

" Her Majesty will not be 
disappointed, after aiy 1 said 
he, with a courtly bow to us, 
11 and the commission the 
Maharajah's honoured me with 
shall be fulfilled" 

The poor gentleman was 
taken ashore that afternoon, 
and his luggage followed him. 
He was certified mad by the 
medical man at Cape Town, and was to be re- 
tained there, as I understood, till the arrival of 
a steamer for England. It was an odd, be* 
wildering incident from top to bottom, No 
doubt this particular delusion was occasioned 
by the poor fellow, whose mind was then fast 
decaying, readingabout the transmission of the 
Koh-i-noor, and musing about it with a mad- 
man's proneness to dwell upon little things. 

by Google 

Original from 

HE ^foolish business" of 
Heraldry has supplied the 
motive for numerous packs of 
cards. Two .only, however, 
can be here shown, though 
there are instructive examples 
of the latter half of the seventeenth and 
beginning of the eighteenth centuries from 
England, Scotland, France, Germany, and 
Italy. The example given in Fig. 16 
is English, of the date of 1690, and 


Or aZyerv 
rurn^antin a 


the fifty -two earns of the pack give us the 
arms of the different European States, and 
of the peers of England and Scotland, A 
pack similar to this was engraved by Walter 
Scott, the Edinburgh goldsmith, in 1691, 
and is confined to the Arms of England, 
Scotland, Ireland, France, and the great 



f^^^^ 4H^^ 





Scottish families of that date, prepared 
under the direction of the Lyon King of 
Arms, Sir Alexander Erskine. The French 
heraldic example (Fig. 17) is from a pack 
of the time of Louis XIV., with the arms of 
the French nobility and the nobles of other 
European countries ; the " suit" signs of the 
pack being " Fleur do Lis," " Lions, 7 ' " Roses," 
and "Eagles." 

Caligraphy, e%-en, has not been left without 
recognition, for we have a pack, published 

Cm l?$#r Qew?* Scfiott 

FIG, 18. 

in Nuremberg, in 1767, giving examples of 
written characters and of free-hand pen draw- 
ing, to serve as writing copies. We show the 
Nineof Hearts from this pack ( Fig, r 8), and the 
eighteenth century South German graphic idea 
of a Highlander of the period is amusing, and 
his valorous attitude is sufficiently satisfying. 

Biography has ? too, its place in this playing- 
card cosmography, though it has not many 
examples. The one we give (Fig. 19) is 
German, of about 1730, and is from a pack 
which depicts a series of heads of Emperors, 
poets, and historians, Greek and Roman— a 
summary of their lives and occurrences therein 
gives us their raison d*hn, 

Qf Geographical playing cards there are 

Mttkdem €r Ti/Rtgieru^w uber 
dteGaideri ertanat brapiteCr 

J tJt7rdasSock£dchL 
peum inderfchlaihtbey) 
mathtefickfunuuh ^wmnerr 
uhtrdds RomijcmetdlunbUi 

We matkfn . Cndluk wurde fr im 
f jy Un Sakrjeuui filters pH rutn 

undCajjio indfrnfRatkerJiachit 

imJahraer Wdt J yo a t 

11.;. t. r . 

several examples in the second half of 
the seventeenth century. The one selected 
for illustration (Fig. 20) gives a sectional 


Darky Sh: 




Circ tern ft rente. _-_- 

"mWTl^£d t 'jt"-v«ir i s:'JJ *yz. 


Vol* ¥ - *X 



map of one of the English counties, each of 
the fifty-two cards of the pack having the 
map of a county of England and Wales, with 
its geographical limitations, These are 
among the more rare of old playing cards, 
and their gradual destruction when used as 
educational media will, as in the case of 
horn-books, and early children's books gener- 
ally, account for this rarity. Perhaps the 
most interesting geographical playing cards 
which have survived this common fate, 
though they are the ultima rarissima of such 
cards, is the pack designed and engraved by 
H. Winstanley, "at Littlebury, in Essex/' as 
we read on +1 ie Ace of Hearts. They 
appear to have been intended to afford 
instruction in geography and ethnology. 
Each of the cards has a descriptive account 
of one of the States or great cities of the 
world, and we have taken the King of Hearts 
(Fig, 2i) T with hs description of England and 
the English, as the most interesting. The cos- 
tumes are those of the time of James II., 
and the view gives us Old London Bridge, the 
Church of St. Mary Overy, on the south side 
of the Thames, and the Monument, then 
recently erected at the northern end of the 
bridge to commemorate the Great Fire, and 
which induced Popes indignant lines : — - 

"Where London's column, poinding to the skies 
Like a tn.ll bully, lifts its head and— lies*" 


The date of the pack is about 1685, and it 
has an added interest from the fact that its 
designer was the projector of the first 
Eddystone Lighthouse, where he perished 
when it was destroyed by a great storm 
in 1703, 

Music, too, is not forgotten, though 
on playing cards it is seen in smaller pro- 
portion than other of the arts*. To 
the popularity of the u Beggar's Opera " of 
John Gay, that satirical attack upon the 
Government of Sir Robert Walpole, we are 
indebted for its songs and music appearing 
as the motif of the pack, from which we 
give here the Queen of Spades (Fig. 22), 

J 'UiMMlgi^HjUl 

■ j» i .i i ji|j 

JH NJ 1 .1* 


ffkjHnuter welt ?&e jiffi/kptr* ; 

Tlute . 

Mr i crrpurrinffrhritr 


FIG. 21- 

and the well-thumbed cards before us show- 
that they were popular favourites. Their 
date may be taken as nearly coincident 
with that of the opera itself, viz., 1728. A 
further example of musical cards is given in 
Fig. 23, from a French pack of 1830, with 
its pretty piece of costume headgear, and 
its characteristic waltz music. 

France has been prolific in what may 
be termed " Cartes de fantai.sie," burlesque 
and satirical, not always designed, how- 
ever, with due regard to the refinements 
of welV^h^vg^j.jcom muni ties. They are 
alwavsii^ftirv^^ of inven- 

tive aaapxdufiti'arewonh Jiotice. The example 



FIG, 23. 

shown (Fig, 24) is from a pack of the year 
18 1 8, and is good of Its class* 

Of these " Cartes de fantaisie," each of the 
card-producing countries of Europe has at 
different dates produced examples of varying 
degrees of artistic value. Although not the 
best in point of merit, the most generally 
attractive of these are the packs produced in 
the years 1806-7-8 and 9, by the Tubingen 
bookseller, Cotta, and which were published 
in book form, as the "Karten Almanack," 
and also as ordinary packs. Every card has 
a design, in which the suit signs, or " pips,' 1 
are brought in as an integral part, and 
admirable ingenuity is displayed in this 
adaptation ; although not the best in the 
series, we give the Six of Hearts (Fig. 25), 

FIG* ?s* 

as lending itself best to the purpose of 
reproduction, and as affording a fair instance 
of the method of design. 

In England numerous examples of these 
illustrated playing cards have been produced 
of varying degrees of artistic merit, and, as 
one of the most amusing, we select the 
Knave of Spades from a pack of the year 
1824 {Fig, 26), These cards are printed 
from copper-plates, and are coloured by 
hand, and show much ingenuity in the 
adaptation of the design to the form of the 

"WilSilli'brt with more true 

'5- T 


PEG, 26. 

artistic feeling and treatment than the pre- 
ceding, we give the Deuce of Clubs, from 
a pack with London Cries (Fig. 27), 
and another with Fables {Fig, 28), both 


+ j 

(Jars , Oaw,Ikryi>uirant^|| 


iV .. ■•■««_ 

of which date from th« earlier yean 
of the last century, the former with the 
quaint costume and badge of a waterman, 
with his cry of u Oars ! oars ! do you want a 
boat?" In the middle distance the piers 
of Old London Bridge, and the house 
at its foot with overhanging gallery, 
make a pleasing old-time picture. Thr 
"Fables" cards are apparently from the designs 
of Francis Barlow, and are probably engraved 
by him ; although we find upon some of 
them the name of J* Kirk, who, however, 
was the seller of the cards only, and who, 
as was not uncommon with the vendor of 

♦ ♦ 

♦ ♦ 


i*5it^l JF M* r Jji v^r^fc. 


jfcaaf#dManvhofe Jhouldera bawd beneath 
A mijhtf Ioad,i ji autfiufh calld for Death ; 
Death ftrcut ^proadufcalkintf hi&GMiJtnand , 
Ciyd on\y St to lend your helping hand . 

Hw^fmit Avjfti^anfius painsjrct Life still pie aft* 
. >ltich iuom dian Dcithtfho all ourScmww cafea , 

PIG, 37. 

FIG. 28, 

that time, in this way robbed the artist of 
what honour might belong to his work, Both 
of these packs are rare ; that of the M Fables n is 
believed to be unique. Of a date some 
quarter of a century antecedent to those just 
described we have an amusing pack, in which 
each card has a collection of moral sen- 
tences, aphorisms, or a worldly-wise story, or 
— we regret in the interests of good behaviour 
to have to add ^something very much the 
reverse of them. The larger portion of the 
card is occupied by a picture of considerable 
excellence in illustration of the text; and 

iiotwithfNm^ Memrfrrity to which we 



have referred as attaching to some of them, 
the cards are very interesting as studies of 
costume and of the manners of the time — 
of what served to amuse our ancestors two 
centuries ago— and is a curious compound 
survival of Puritan teaching and the license 
of the Restoration period. We give one of 
them in Fig* 29. 

The Ace of Clubs, shown in Fig. 30, is 
from a pack issued in Amsterdam about 1 7 10, 
and is a good example of the Dutch bur- 
lesque cards of the eighteenth century. The 
majority of them have local allusions, the 
meaning of which is now lost j and many of 
them are of a character which will not bear 

t Qmtent WdrcatRA&K%jtnd patient Po z 
Vextyu ffiicniyfp* £7 fjrtu&£ . 

ttA an inczn * V/i wiu& ■ 

tilfJ+JtiJ a little *> tfe 7*kl *i&J, ^jv^nsatriai 
f &f piles vfwaith. rajfed&v un/u^t^XMrUeru 

Jfie dktrd \ffeif /kldfm dvth zrutrv *cvr/isrv 
J JTrit ridJ^thAt ft£&£r£&F££tf irJr/&&Ftlf 1 r 

Ms^&rr; that &u &U> ughjfttt/h&te Kimfdf. 

J HJ, ->: f , 

reproduction, A better -known pack of 
Dutch cards is that satirizing the Mississippi 
scheme of 1716, and the victims of the 
notorious John law — the "bubble" which, 
on its collapse, four years later, brought ruin 
to so many thousands. 

Our space forbids the treatment of playing 
cards under any but their pictorial aspects, 
though the temptation is great to attempt 
some description of their use from an early 
j>eriod as instruments of divination or fortune 
telling, for which in the hands of the "wise 
man" or woman of various countries they are 
still used, and to which primary purpose the 
early " Tarots ,J were doubtless applied ; but, 

as it is among the more curious of such cards, 
we give the Queen of Hearts from a pack of 
the immediate post-Commonwealth period 
(Fig* 31)* The figure is called Semiramis— 
without, so far as can be seen, any reason. It 
is one of a melange of names for cards in 

flC 31. 

* 54 


which Wat Tyler and Tycho Brahe rub 
shoulders in the suit of Spades, and 
Mahomet and Nimrod in that of Diamonds! 

In the pack we find the Knave of Clubs 
named <£ Hewson " (not the card -maker of m 
that name), but he who 
is satirized by Butler as 
" Hewson the Cobbler." 
Elsewhere he is called 
t£ One-eyed Hewson." He 
is shown with but one 
eye in the card bearing 
his name, and as it is 
contemporary, it may be a 
fair presentment of the 
man who, whatever his 
vices, managed under 
Cromwell to obtain high 
honours, and who was by 
him nominated a member 
of the House of Lords, 
The bitter prejudice of 
the time is shown in the 
story which is told of 
Hewson, that on the day 
the King was beheaded 
he rode from Charing Cross 
to the Royal Exchange 
proclaiming that "who- 
ever should say that no. & 

%amiihit\rtut>tw$om fey 

P*3. 33- 

Charles Stuart died wrong- 
fully should suffer death." 
Among the ^muZ-educa- 
tional uses of playing cards 
we find the curious work 
of Dr, Thomas Murner, 
whose " Logica Memora- 
tiva Chartiludiuny' pub- 
lished at Stra.ssbuTg in 
1507, is the earliest instance 
known to us of a distinct 
application of playing cards 
to education, though the 
author expressly disclaims 
any knowledge of cards. 
The method used by tin 
Doctor was to make each 
card an aid to memory, 
though the method must 
have been a severe strain 
of memory in itself. One 
of them is here given (Fig, 





being the 
of Bells 




It would seem that hardly any branch of 
human knowledge had been overlooked in the 
adaptation of playing cards to an educational 
purpose, and they who still have them in mind 
under the designation of "the Devil's books," 
may be relieved to know that Bible history 
has been taught by the means of playing 
cards. In 1603 there was published a Bible 
History and Chronology, under the title of 
the u Geistliche Karten Spiel," where t much 
asMurnerdid in the instance we have given 
above, the cards were used as an aid to 
memory, the author giving to each of the 
suit signs the distinctive appellation of some 
character or incident in Holy Writ And 
more recently Zuccarelli, one of the original 
members of our Royal Aca- 
demy, designed and etched 
a pack of cards with the 
same intention. 

In Southern 
Germany we 
find in the last 
century playing 
cards specially 
prepared for gifts 
at weddings and 
for use at the 
festivities attend- 
ing such events. 
These cards bore 
conventional re- 
presentations of 
the bride, the 
bridegroom, the 
musicians, the 
priest, and the 
guests, onjiorse- 
back or in car- 
riages, each with 
a laudatory in- 

scription. The card shown in Fig, 33 is from a 
pack of this kind of about 1 740, the Roman 
numeral I. indicating it as the first in a series of 
"Tarots" numbered consecutively from I. to 
XXL, the usual Tarot designs being replaced 
by the wedding pictures described above. The 
custom of presenting guests with a pack of 
cards has been followed by the Worshipful 
Company of Makers of Playing Cards, who 
at their annual banquet give to their guests 
samples of the productions of the craft with 
which they are identified, which are specially 
designed for the occasion. 

To conclude this article — much too 
limited to cover so interesting a subject — 
we give an illustration (Fig, 34) from a 
pack of fifty-two playing 
cards of silver — every card 
being engraved upon a thin 
plate of that 
metal. They 
are probably the 
work of a late 
sixteenth cen- 
tury German 
goldsmith, and 
are exquisite 
examples of 
design and skill 
with the graver. 
They are in the 
possession of a 
well-known col- 
lector of all 
things beautiful, 
curious, and 
rare* by whose 
courteous per- 
mission this 
unique example 
appears here. 

CARDS, 162*- 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Cetebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 


Born 1858. 

TO N t whose 
appointmen t 
to the post of 
tenant of Ireland came 

somewhat as a surprise, is 
a Yorkshire landowner, and 
a son of the peer so well 
known both in literary and 
social circles as Richard 
Monckton Milnes, whose 
poems and prose writings 
alike will long keep his 
memory alive, This literary 
faculty has descended to 
the present peer, his recent 
volume of poems having 
been received by the best 
critics as bearing evidence 

\i ')<>' t-jntth.} AGE 1&» [IF. rfIX Itotratjr. 

From a Pkoto. bfAUet Jfwflto-J, fj, Lrtopvr Strat, JT,C. 

of a true poetic gift Lord Houghton, who 
served as a Lord-in-Waiting in Mr. Glad- 
stone's Government of 1886, is a rich man 
and the reputed heir of Lord Crewe; he 
has studied and travelled and has taken 
some share, though hitherto not a very 
prominent one, in politics, He is a 
widower, an|i:W^ sister presides over h^ 
establish,,,^ mmm 




ACS l& 

Ft-om a i&ttth in Cmjtfojw by Ihutedf. 

Born 1839, 
R. JOHN PETTIE was born 
in Edinburgh, and exhibited 
his earliest works in the Royal 
Scottish Academy. He came 
to London at the age of 
twenty-three, and at the age of twenty- 
seven was elected an A/R.A. His election 
to the distinction of R,A. took place when 
he was thirty-four, in the place of Sir Edwin 

has also painted many subjects from Shake- 
speare's works; his " Scene in the Temple 
Gardens " being one of his most popular pro- 
ductions. " The Death Warrant 7i represents 

At;*: 30, 

Frtmm Ffo?to, hu g, ir- irfl*w, *4&mf«n, 

Landseer. Mr. Pettie's portraits and his- 
torical pictures are within the knowledge of 
every reader — his armour, carbines, lances, 
broadswords, and pistols are will -known 
features in every year's Academy — for his 
subjects are chiefly scenes of battle and of 
military life. His first picture hung in the 
Royal Academy was " The Armourers," He 

Ftatt n Phnio. bff\ 

ACE 40* 

{FwddU tf Slut-Mall 

an episode in the career of the consumptive 
little son of Henry VIIL and Jane Seymour, 
In "Two Strings to His Bow/' Mr. Pettie 
showed a considerable sense of humour* 

from a Photo. by\ f im-isest uay. 

V9I1 v— n 




daughter of H,R.H, Prince Adolphu* 
Frederick, Duke of Cambridge, the 
seventh son of His Majesty King 
George III., married on June 12th, 
1866, H.S + H, the Duke of Teck, whose portrait 
at different ages we have the pleasure of pre 

M. WMtrhalttr 

senting on the 
opposite page. 
The Duchess of 
Teck and her 
daughter Prin- 
cess Victoria are 
well known and 
esteemed far be- 
yond their own 
circle of society 
for their interest 
in works of 
charity and the 

genuine kindness of heait, which render them 
ever ready to enter into schemes of benevolence. 
We may remind our readers that a charming 
series of portraits of Princess Victoria of Feck 
appeared in our issue of February, 1892. a Bnltrinv by\ 

F, .i?ji a j y hnt4 


iJtutfffti ,1 Sir. I. 



It is not generally known that a family law, 
which decrees that the son of a marriage between 
a prince of the Royal Family of Wurtenv 

berg and a lady 
not of princely 
birth, however 
nobly born, cannot 
inherit the crown, 
alone prevents the 
Duke of Teek from 
being King of 
W iirte rnberg . The 
Duke of Teck has 
served with distinc- 
tion in the Army, 
having received the 
Egyptian medal and 
the Khedive's star, 
together with the 
rank of colonel. 

Frvtit a] 

Born 1837. 

IS Serene Highness 

Francis Paul 

Charles Louis 

Alexander, G.C.B., 

Prince and Duke 
of Teck, is the only son or Duke 
Alexander of UurttmbLTg and 

the Countess Claudine RhtMy and Countess of Hohen 
stein, a lady of a most illustrious but not princely house 




AGE 2& 

y >*>m a Painiiittf t*v) Ae.B 5. 

r/vftapi Rlmtr. 

From a Fk&to. Itf pkfsi> t n rtVp [Kftiatt & Fr^ 



Froma\ age 18- [Daffuerrwtvpt. 

journalist, musician, was bom at Egham, 
his father being the Kc:v. J. (>. \V. Haweh, 
rector of Slaugham, Sussex, He was ^mai^to h v : pj^wt day. ~~ [hwwh*.*»* 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 

No. XX.— Dr. BARNARDO, F.R.CS. Ed. 

From n Photo, hy] 



|HEN it is remembered that the 
Homes founded and ^ovenied 
by I Jr. Barnardo comprise 
fifty distinct institutions ; that 
since the foundation of the 
first Home, twenty-eight years 
ago, in Stepney, over 22,000 boys and girls 
have been rescued from positions of almost 
indescribable danger ; that to-day five thou- 
sand orphans and destitute children, consti- 
tuting the largest family in the world, are 
being cared fur, trained, and put on a differ- 
ent footing to that of shoeless and stocking- 
less, it will be at once understood that a 
definite and particular direction must be 
chosen in which to allow one's thoughts 
and investigations to travel. I immediately 
select the babies— the little ones of five 
years old and under ; and it is possible that 
ere the last words of this paper are written, 
the Doctor may have disappeared from these 
pages, and we may find ourselves hi fancy 
romping and playing with the babes in the 
green fields— one day last summer. 

There is no misjudging the character of 
Dr* Barnardo —there is no misinterpreting 
his motives, Somewhat below the medium 
height, strong and stoutly built, with an 
expression at times a little severe, but with 
benevolent-looking eyes, which immediately 

scatter the lines of severity : he at once 
impresses you as a man or immovable 
disposition and intentions not to be cast 
aside. He sets his heart on having a thing 
done. It is done. He conceives some 
new departure of rescue work. There is no 
rest for him until it is accomplished. His 
rapidity of speech tells of continual activity 
of mind. He is essentially a business man— 
he needs mast be. He takes a waif in hand, 
and makes a man or woman of it in a very 
few years. Why should the child's unparent- 
like parent now come forward and claim it 
once more for a life of misery and probable 
crime ? Dr. Barnardo thinks long before he 
would snap the parental ties between mother 
and child; but if neglect, cruelty, or degrada- 
tion towards her offspring have been the 
chief evidences of her relationship, nothing 
in the wide world would stop him from 
taking the little one up and holding it fast. 

I sat down to chat over the very wide sub- 
ject of child rescue in Dr. Barnardo's cosy 
room at Stepney Causeway. It was a 
bitter cold night outside, the streets were 
frozen, the snow falling* In an hour's time 
we were to start for the slums— to see baby 
life in the vicinity of Flower and Dean 
Street Hrffllqhfclifiipffipd A Vent worth Street 
- M l>UPi.*!WflH<PKI# ere Ae fourpenny 

Vol. v— »% 



lodging-house still refuses to be crushed by 
model dwellings. Over the comforting fire 
we talked about a not altogether unevent- 
ful past 

Dr. Barnardo was born in 1845, in Dublin, 
Although an Irishman by birth, he is not so 
by blood. He is really of Spanish descent, 
as his name suggests, 

11 1 can never recollect the time/* he said, 
61 when the face and the voice of a child has 
not had power to draw me aside from every- 
thing else. Naturally, I have always had a 
passionate love for children. Their helpless- 
ness, their innocence, and, in the case 
of waif children, 
their misery, consti- 
tute, I feel, an irre- 
sistible appeal to 
every humane heart, 

M I remember an 
incident which oc- 
curred to me at a very 
early age, and which 
made a great impres- 
sion upon me. 

" One day, when 
coming home from 
school, I saw stand- 
ing on the margin 
of the pavement a 
woman in miserable 
attire, with a wretched- 
looking baby in her 
arms. I was then 
only a schoolboy of 
eleven years old, but 
the sight made me 
very unhappy. I 
r e ni em b e r look ing 
furtively every way 
to see if I was 
observed, and then 
emptying my pockets— truly they 

the fa'.e of the baby it fascinated me ; so I 
had to go back, and in a low voice suggested 
to the woman that if she would follow me 
home I would try to get her something more, 

" Fortunately, I was able to let her into 
the hall without attracting much attention, 
and then went down to the cook on my 
errand, I forget what was done, except that 
I know a good meal was given to the 
* mother 7 and some milk to the baby. Just 
then an elder sister of mine came into the 
hall t and was attracted as I had been to the 
infant ; but observing the woman she 
suddenly called out : * Why, you are the 

From a Pknia, by\ 


bad not 

in them into the woman's hands, 

sauntering on, I could not forget 

woman I have spoken to twice before, and 
this is a different baby ; this is the third you 
have had 1 ' 

" And so it came to pass that I had my 
first experience of a beggars shifts. The 
child was not hers ; she had borrowed it, or 
hired it, and it was, as my sister said, the 
third in succession she had had within a 
couple of months* So I was somewhat 
humiliated as 4 mother' and infant were 
quietly, but quickly, passed out through the 
hall door into the street, and I learned my 
first lesson that the best way to help the 
poor is not necessarily to give money to the 

first beggar you meet 
in the street, although 
it is well to always 
keep a tender heart 
for the sufferings of 

** Hire babies ! 
Borrow babies ! " I 

M Yes," replied the 
Doctor, M and buy 
them, too + I know 
of several lodging- 
houses where I could 
hire a baby from 
fourpence to a shil- 
ling a day. The 
prettier the child is 
the better ; should 
it happen to be a 
cripple, or possessing 
particularly thin arms 
and face, it is always 
worth a shilling. 
Little girls always 
demand a higher 
price than boys. I 
knew of one woman 
— her supposed husband sells chick weed 
and groundsel — who has carried a baby 
exactly the same size for the last nine 
or ten years ! I myself have, in days gone 
by, bought children in order to rescue them. 
Happily, such a step is now not needful, 
owing to changes in the law^ which enable 
us to get possession of such children by 
better methods. For one girl I paid 
1 os. fid*, whilst my very first purchase cost 
me 7s. 6d* It was for a little boy and girl 
baby— brother and sister. The latter was 
tied up in a bundle. The woman— whom 
I found sitting on a door - step — offered 
to sell tQsiaw'ftW^ trifle, half-crown, 
but ntf N^&lftlWIHgfrl, as she was 'her 
living. 1 However, I rescued them both, for 

[Elliott J: Fr>. 



the sum I have mentioned. In another case 
I got a poor little creature of two years of 
age —I can see her now, with arms no thicker 
than my finger— from her drunken 'guardian' 
for a shilling. When it came to washing the 
waif- -what clothes it had on consisted of 
nothing but knots and strings ; they had not 
been untied for weeks, perhaps months, 
and had to be cut off with a pair of scissors 
—we found something tied round its waist, to 
which the child constantly stretched out its 
wasted fingers and endeavoured to raise to 
its lips. On examination it proved to be an 
old fish-bone wrapped in a piece of cotton, 
which must have been at 
least a month old Yet 
you must remember that 
these * purchases ' are 
quite exceptional cases, 
as my children have, for 
the most part, been 
obtained by legitimate 

Yes, these little mites 
arrive at Stepney some- 
what strangely at times, 
A child was sent from 
Newcastle in a hamper. 
It bore a small tablet on 
the wicker basket, which 
read : M To Dr. Barnardo, 
London, With care." 
The little girl arrived 
quite safe and perfectly 
sound. But the most 
remarkable instance of 
all was that of little 
Frank. Few children 
reach Dr. Barnardo whose 
antecedents cannot be traced and their 
history recorded in the volumes kept 
for this purpose. But Frankie remains 
one of the unknown. Some time ago a 
carrier delivered what was presumably a 
box of Swiss milk at the Homes. The 
porter in charge received it, and was 
about to place it amongst other packages, 
when the faintest possible cry escaped 
through the cracks in the lid. The pliers 
were hastily brought, the nails flew out, the 
lid came off, and there lay little Frank in his 
diminutive baby's robe, peacefully sleeping, 
with the end of the tube communicating 
with his bottle of milk still between his 
lips ! 

"That is one means of getting rid of 
children," said Dr. Barnardo, after he had 
told me the story of Frank, " but there are 
others which might almost amount r> a 

»mn a\ M TO l>R. HAKNAk 

respectable method, I have received offers 
of large sums of money from persons who 
have been desirous of my receiving their 
children into these I tomes without asking m$ 
questions. Not so very long ago a lady came 
to Stepney in her carriage, A child was in 
it. I granted her an interview, and she laid 
down five ^100 notes, saying they were 
mine if I would take the child and ask no 
questions. I did not take the child. Again. 
A well-known peer of the realm once sent 
his footman here with ^roo, asking me to 
take the footman's son. No. The footman 
could support his child. Gold and silver 
will never open my door:: 
unless there is real desti- 
tution. It is for the 
homeless, the actually 
destitute, that we open 
our doors day and night, 
without money and with 
out price. It is a dark 
night outside, but if you 
will look up on this build- 
ing, the words, *JVb desti- 
tute froy or girl ever refused 
admission* are large 
enough to be read on the 
darkest night and with 
the weakest eyesight ; 
and that has been true 
all these seven -and-t wen ty 

" On this same pretext 
of l asking no questions/ 
I have been offered 
/io,ooo down, and 
^£900 a year guaranteed 
during tTie lifetime of the 
wealthy man who made the offer, if I would 
set up a Foundling Institution. A basket was 
to be placed outside, and no attempt 
was ever to be made either to see the 
woman or to discover from whence she came 
or where she went. This, again, I refused. 
We mnst know all we can about the little 
ones who come here, and every possible 
means is taken to trace them. A photo is 
taken of every child when it arrives— even in 
tatters; it is re -photographed again when it is 
altogether a different small creature." 

Concerning these photographs, a great deal 
might be said, for the photographic studio at 
Stepney is an institution in itself. Over 
30,000 negatives have been taken, and the 
photograph of any child can be turned up at 
a moment's na®!R" 1, D"bt of this arrangement 
romantliWQlftflJfc^^ grow. 

Here is one of many. A child of three 

WITH CAHK. l/'Arnfo. 




years old, discovered in a village in Lancashire 
deserted by its parents, was taken to the 
nearest workhouse. There were no other 
children in the workhouse at the time, and a 
lady visitor, struck with the forlornness of 
the little girl waif, beginning life under the 
shadow of the 
workhouse, bene- 
volently wrote to 
Dn Barnardo, and 
after some negoti- 
ations the child 
was admitted to 
the Homes and its 
photograph taken. 
Then it went down 
to the Girls' Vil- 
lage Home at II- 
fordj where it grew 
up in one of the 
cottage families 
until eleven years old. 

One day a lady called on Dr. 
Barnardo and told him a sad tale 
concerning her own child, a little 
girl, who had been stolen by a 
servant who owed her a spite, and 
who was lost sight of years ago* 
The lady had done all she could 
at the time to trace her child in 
vain, and had given up the pursuit; 
but lately an unconquerable desire 
to resume her inquiries filled hen 
Among other places, she applied 
to the police in London, and the 
authorities suggested that she 
should call at Stepney. 

Dr. Barnardo could, of course, 

give hlT HO clltC Whatever, Eight Prom a] 

years had passed since the child 
had been lost ; but one thing he could do 
— he could turn to his huge photographic 
album j and show her the faces of all 
the children who had been received within 
certain dates. This was done, and in the 
course of turning over the pages the lady's 
eye fell on the face of the little girl waif 
received from a I -an cash ire workhouse, and 
with much agitation declared that she was 
her child, The girl was still at Ilford. In 
an hour's time she was fetched up, and found 
to In: a well-grown, nice-mannered child of 
eleven years of age —to be folded immediately 
in her mother's arms. " There could be no 
doubt, 17 the Doctor added, "of the parent- 
age; they were so much alike," Of course, 
inquiries had to be made as to the position 
of the lady, and assurances given that she 
was really able to maintain the child, and 

that it would be well cared for. These being 
satisfactory, Dorothy changed hands, and u 
now being brought up under her mother's 

The boys and girls admitted to the fifty 
Homes under Dr. Barnardo s s care are of 
all nationalities — - black 
and white, even Hindus 
and Chinese. A little 
while ago there were four- 
teen languages spoken in 
the Homes* 

" And what about nam- 
ing the * unknown ?" I 
asked. " What about 
folk who want to adopt 
a child and are willing 
to take one of yours ? " 
" In the nam- 
ing of unknown 
children," the 
Doctor replied, 
11 we have no cer- 
tain method, but 
allow ourselves to 
be guided by the 
facts of the case, 
A very small boy, 
two years ago, was 
discovered desti- 
tute upon a door- 
step in Oxford. 
He was taken to 
the workhouse, 
and, after more 
or less investiga- 
tion to discover 
the people who 
abandoned him, 
he came into my 
hands. He had no name, but he was forth- 
with christened, and given the name of a 
very celebrated building standing close to 
where he was found. 

iS Mark Perdu suggests at once the history 
which attaches to her. Rachel Tr&uvi is 
equally suggestive. That we have not more 
names of this sort is due to the fact that we 
insist upon the most minute, elaborate 
and careful investigation of every case ; 
and it is, I think, to the credit of our 
institutions that not more than four or five 
small infants have been admitted from the 
first without our having been able to trace 
each child home to its parentage, and to fill 
our records with incidents of its early history. 
" Regarding the question of adoption. I am 
very slo^^gifea cttlq.nLit for adoption in 



bye, during the 



year 1892, 720 boys and girls have emigrated 
to the Colonies, making a grand total of 5,834 
young folks who have gone out to Canada 
and other British Colonies since this particu- 
lar branch was started. As I was saying, in 
Canada, if a man adopts a child it really 
becomes as his own. If a girl, he must 
provide her with a marriage dowry." 

" But the little ones — the very tiny ones, Dr. 
Barnardo, where do they go ? " I interrupted. 

"To 'Babies' Castle' at Hawkhurst, in 
Kent A few go to Ilford, where the Girls' 
Village Home is. It is conducted on the 
cottage principle — which means home. I 
send some there — one to each cottage. 
Others are ' boarded out ' all over the 
kingdom, but a good many, especially the 
feebler ones who need special medical and 
nursing care, go to 'Babies' Castle,' where 
you were — one day last summer ! " 

One day last summer ! It was remem- 
bered only too well, and more so when we 
hurried out into the cold air outside and 
hastened our footsteps — eastwards. And as 
we walked along I listened to the story of 
Dr. Barnardo's first Arab boy. His love for 
waifs and strays as a child increased with 
years ; it had been impressed upon his boyish 
memory, and when he became a young man 
and walked the wards of the London Hos- 
pital, it increased. 

It was the winter of 1866. Together with 
one or two fellow students he conducted a 
ragged school in an old stable. The young 
student told the children stories — simple and 
understandable, and read to them such 
works as the "Pilgrim's Progress." The 
nights were cold, and the young students 
subscribed together — in a practical move — 
for a huge fire. One night young Barnardo 
was just about to go when, approaching the 
warming embers to brace himself up for the 
snow outside, he saw a boy lying there. He 
was in rags; his face pinched with hunger 
and suffering. 

" Now then, my boy — it's time to go," said 
the medico. 

" Please, sir, do let me stop." 

"1 can't, my lad — it's time to go home. 
Where do you live ? " 

" Don't live nowhere, sir! " 

" Nowhere ! Where's your father and 
mother ? " 

"Ain't got none, sir !" 

" For the first time in my life," said Dr. 
Barnardo as he was telling this incident, 
" I was brought face to face with the misery 
of outcast childhood. I questioned the lad. 
He had been sleeping in the streets for two or 

three years— he knew every corner of refuge 
in London. Well, I took him to my 
lodgings. I had a bit of a struggle with the 
landlady to allow him to come in, but at last 
I succeeded, and we had some coffee 

" His reply to one question I asked him 
impressed me more than anything else. 

" ' Are there many more like you ? ' I 

" ' Heaps, sir: 

" He spoke the truth. He took me to one 
spot near Houndsditch. There I obtained 
my first view of real Arab life. Fleven 
lads — some only nine and ten years of age — 
lay on the roof of a building. It was a 
strange sight— the moon seemingly singling 
out every sleeper for me. Another night 
we went together over to the Queen's Shades, 
near Billingsgate. On the top of a number 
of barrels, covered with tarpaulin, seventy- 
three fellows were sleeping. I had the 
whole lot out for a halfpenny apiece. 

" ' By God's help,' I cried inwardly, < I'll 
help these fellows.' 

"Owing to a meeting at Islington my 
experiences got into the daily Press. The 
late Lord Shaftesbury sent for me, and one 
night at his house at dinner I was chaffed for 
'romancing.' When Lord Shaftesbury went 
with me to Billingsgate that same night and 
found thirty-seven boys there, he knew 
the terrible truth. So we started with 
fifteen or twenty boys, in lodgings, friends 
paying for them. Then I opened a dilapi- 
dated house, once occupied by a stock 
dealer, but with the help of brother medicos 
it was cleaned, scrubbed, and whitewashed. 
We begged, borrowed, and very nearly stole 
the needful bedsteads. The place was ready, 
and «it was soon filled with twenty-five boys. 
And the work grew — and grew — and grew 
— you know what it is to-day ! " 

We had now reached Whitechapel. The 
night had increased in coldness, the snow 
completely covered the roads and pavements, 
save where the ruts, made by the slowly 
moving traffic and pedestrians' tread, were 
visible. To escape from the keen and 
cutting air would indeed have been a bless- 
ing — a blessing that was about to be realized 
in strange places. Turning sharply up a side 
street, we walked a short distance and 
stopped at a certain house. A gentle tap, 
tap at the door. It was opened by a woman, 
and we entered. It was a vivid picture — a 
picture of low life altogether indescribable. 

The great coke fire, which never goes out 
save when the chimney is swept, and in front 



of which were cooking pork chops, steaks, 
mutton - chops, rashers of bacon, and that 
odoriferous marine delicacy popularly known 
as a bloater^ threw a strange glare upon 
"all sorts and conditions of men," Old 
men. with histories written on everv wrinkle 
of their faces; old women, with straggling 
and unkempt white hair falling over their 
shoulders ; young men, some with eyes that 
hastily dropped at your gaze ; young women, 
some with never-mind-let's-enjoy-lifc-while- 
we're-here expressions 011 their faces ; some 
with stories of misery and degradation plainly 
lined upon their features — boys and girls ; 
and little ones ! Tiny little ones ! 

Stillj look at the walls ; at the ceiling. It 
is the time of Christmas. Garlands of paper 
chains are stretched across ; holly and ever- 
greens are in abundance, and even the bunch 
of mistletoe is not missing. But, the little 
ones rivet my attention. Some are a few 
weeks old, others two, three, four, and five 
years old, Women are nursing them. Where 
are their mothers ? I am told that they are 
out — and this and that girl is receiving two- 
pence or threepence for minding baby until 
mother comes home once more. The whole 
thing is too terribly jeal ; and now, now I 
begin to understand a little about Dr + 
Barnardo's work arjd the urgent necessity 
for it "Save the children," he cries, "at 
any cost from becoming such as the men 
and women are whom we see here ■ " 

That night I visited some dozen, perhaps 
twenty, of these lodging-houses. The same 
men and women were everywhere, the same 
fire, the same eatables cooking — even the 
chains of coloured papers, the holly and the 
hunch of mistletoe 
-and the wretched 
children as welL 

Hurrying away 
from these scenes 
of the nowadays 
downfall of man 
and woman, I re- 
turned home. I 
lit my pipe and 
my memory went 
away to the 
months of song 
and sunshine — 
one day last sum- 
mer ! 

I had got my 
parcel of toys — 
balls and steam- 
engines, dolls, and 
funny little wooden 

men that jump about when you pull the 
string, and what-noL But, I had forgotten 
the sweets. Samuel Huggins> however, who 
is licensed to sell tobacco and snuff at Hawk- 
hurst T was the friend in need. He filled my 
pockets for a consideration. And, the fine 
red-brick edifice, with clinging ivy about its 
walls, and known as " Babies' Castle*" came 
in view. 

Here they are — just on their way to 
dinner * Look at this little fellow 1 He 
is leading on either side a little girl and boy. 
The little girl is a blind idiot, the other 
youngster is also blind ; yel he knows every 
child in the place by touch. He knew what 
a railway engine was. And the poor little 
girl got the biggest rubber ball in the pack, 
and for five hours she sat in a corner bounc- 
ing it against her forehead with her two 

Here they come — the fifty yards' race 
■ down the corridor ; a dozen of the very 
smallest crawling along, chuckling and scream- 
ing with excitement. Frank leads the way. 
Artful Frank ! He is off bottles now, but 
he still has an inclination that way, and, 
unless his miniature friends and acquaintances 
keep a sharp look-out, he annexes theirs in 
the twinkling of an eye. ikit, then, Frank is 
a veritable young prize-fighter- And as 
the race continues, a fine Scotch collie — 
laddie — jumps and flies over the heads 
of the small competitors for the first in to 
lunch. You don't believe it? J,ook at the 
picture of Tommy lying down with his head 
resting peacefully on I^addie, laddie \ To 
him the children are as lambs. When they 
are gambolling in the green fields he wanders 

JftJfeK tt Ft*. 



From a Phato. oy] 


lEllwtt <£ Fry . 

about amongst them, and " barks " them 
home when the time of play is done and 
the hour of prayer has come, when the 
little ones kneel up in their cots and put up 
their small petitions. 

Here they are in their own particular 

dining-room. Never were such huge bowls 
of meat soup set before children, Still, 
they'll eat every bit, and a sweet or two on 
the top of that. I asked myself a hundred 
times, Can those ever have been such chil- 
dren as I have seen in the slums? This is 

From a Photo. &jrt 


[Elliott &Fnt. 



From a Photo* bv] 

THE M1I>-DAV 5LE£E k > 

imuvu <t fYf. 

little Daisy. Her name is not the 
only pretty thing about her, She 
has a sweet fact. Daisy doesn't 
know it ; but her mother went 
mad, and Daisy w;is bom in a 
lunatic asylum* Notice this young 
man who seems to take in bigger 
spoonfuls than all the others* He's 
got a mouth like a money box 
— open to take all he can get* 
But when he first caine to "Rabies* 
Castle" he was so weak starved 
in truth— that for days he was car- 
ried about on a pillow. Another 
little fellow's father committed 
suicide. Kail not to observe and 
admire the appetite of Albert 
Edward- He came with no name, 
and he was christened so. His com- 
panions call him "The Prince!" 
Yet another. 'This little girl's 
mother is to-day a celebrated 
beauty — and her next-door diner 
was farmed out and insured. When 
fourteen months old the child only 
weighed fourteen pounds. Every 
child is a picture — the wan cheeks 
are no more, a rosy hue and healthy 
flush are on every face. 

After dinner comes the mid-day 
sleep of two hours. 

Now, I must needs creep through 
the bedrooms, everyone of which 

Prom a Photo, fry] 

\mhU & Fr+ 



Frotn a J**oto. fcy| 

is a pattern of neatness, 
shoes are placed under 
sound is heard, 
"Midget" is to 
"Midget" who 
came in the basket 
from Ne wcastle, 
11 with care." I 
had crept through 
all the dormitories 
save one, when a 
sight I had not 
seen in any of the 
others met me- It 
was in a double 
bed — t he on !y on e 
at"Babies'Cast!e. M 
A little boy lay 
sleeping h; the 
side of a four- 
y ear-old girL Pos- 
sibly it was my 
long-standing lean- 
ing over the rails of 
the cot that woke 
the elder child. 
She slowly opened 
her eyes and 
looked up at me. 


The boots and 

the bed — not a 

Amongst the sleepers the 

be found. It was the 

(t Who are you, 
my little one ? rt 
I whispered. 

And the 'whis- 
per came back 
-"I'm Sister's 
Fidget ! ■ 

"Sister's who?' 1 

"Sister's Fidget, 
please, sir. 5 * 

I learnt after- 
wards that she 
was a most useful 
young woman. All 
the clothes worn 
are given by 
friends. No cloth- 
ing is bought, 
and this young 
woman has them 
all tried on her, 
and after the fitting 
of some thirty or 
forty frocks, etc., 
sh e — fidgets/ 
Hence h e i 

" But why does 
that little boy 
sleep by you?" I questioned again. 

"That's Erncy. He walks in his seep. 
One night I couldn't seep. As I w T as tieing 
to look out of the window Erney came 

\Eltk*ttA Fry. 

From a Photo. 6yJ 


| hlluM <t Pr*. 
Vol, v — 24. 



>Vow « Photo, by] 


\KllizAi .i fry. 

walking down hero. He was fast aseep* 
I got up ever so quick/* 

" And what did you do ? " 

" Put him in his bed again I " 

I went upstairs with Sister Alice to the 
nursery. Here are the very smallest of them 
all Home of the occupants of the white 
enamel cribs — over which the name of the 
ha he appears — are only a very few weeks old 
Here is Frank in a blue frock* It was 
Frank who came in the condensed milk box. 
He is still at his 
bottle as he was 
when first he came. 
Sleeping opposite 
each other are the 
fat lady and gentle- 
man of the estab- 
lishment Annie 
is only seven 
months and three 
days old. She 
weighs 1 61b. 40^ 
She was bathed 
later on—and took 
to the water beau- 
tifully. Arthur is 
eleven months. 
He only weighs 
2 2 lb. 40Z. ! Eigh- 
teen gallons of 
milk are con- 
sumed every dav at 
"Babies' Castle/ 1 
from 5 i x t y t q 
seventy bottles «**•>** W 

filled per diem, and all the bottle babies are 
weighed every week and their record care- 
fully kept. A glance through this book 
reveals the indisputable fact that Arthur puts 
on flesh at a really alarming rate* But there 
are many others who are " growing J ' equally 
as well. The group of youngsters who were 
carried from the nursery to the garden, where 
they could sit in their chairs in the sunshine 
and enjoy a quiet pull at their respective 
bottles, would want a lot of heating for 



imtku £ ft* 



healthy faces, lusty 
voices, and seem- 
ingly never-to-be- 
satisfied appetites. 

A piteous moan 
is heard It comes 
from a corner par- 
titioned off. The 
coverlet is gently 
cast on one side 
for a moment, and 
I ask that it may 
quickly be placed 
back again. It is 
the last one sent to 
*' Babies' Castle." 
I am wondering 
still if this poor 
little mite can live 
It is five months 
old. It weighs 41k 
noz. Such was 
the little one when 
I was at " Babies' 

I looked in at 
the surgery, pre- 
sided over by a fully-qualified lady doctor; 
thence to the infirmary, where were Just three 
or four occupants suffering from childish com- 
plaints, the most serious of which was that of 
the youngster christened u J im Crow," Jimmy 
was **off his feed." Still, he could shout — ■ 
aye, as loud as did his famous namesake. He 
sat up in his little pink flannel nightgown, 
and screamed with delight. And poor 
Jimmy soon learnt how to do it. He only 
had to pull the string, and the aforemen- 
tioned funny little wooden man kicked 

Prom a Photo, by) 

the- Nirtesita; staff, 


W»« « Ph&tu. b v ] 


his legs about as no mortal ever did 3 could, 
or will 

I saw the inhabitants at " Babies 5 Castle " 
in the schoolroom, Here they are happily 
perched on forms and desks, listening 
to some simple story, which appeals to 
their childish fancies. How they sing ! 
They "bring down the house" with their 
thumping on the wooden desks as an ac-. 
companiment to the " big bass drum/' 
whilst a certain youngster's rendering of a 
juvenile ditty, known as " The Muffin Man," 

is calculated to 
make one remem- 
ber his vocal 
efforts whenever 
the hot and juicy 
muffin is put on 
the breakfast table. 
Little Mary still 
trips it neatly. 
She can't quite 
forget the days and 
nights when she 
used to accompany 
her mother round 
the public-houses 
and dance for 
coppers. Jane is 
also a terpsi cho- 
rea n artiste, and 
tingles the tarn- 



with a highly re- 
spectable donkey 
—warranted not to 
proceed too fast — 
attached to it- 
Look at this group 
at the gate. They 
can't quite under- 
stand what "the 
genelman " with 
the cloth over his 
head and a big 
brown box on 
three pieces of 
stick is going to 
do, but it is all 
right They are 
taught lo smile 
here, and the 
photographer did 
not forget to 
put it down. 
And I open the 
bourine to the stepping of her feet: whilst gate and let them down the steps, the 
Annie is another disciple of the art, and sings little girl with the golden locks all over her 
a song with the strange refrain of " Ta-ra-ra- head shnrply advising her smaller corn- 
Boom-de-ay ! " panions to w Come along — come along ! " 

Now, hurrah for play ! — and off we go Then young Christopher mounts the rocking- 

i a ?Wo, 6?] 


{EUiott & Fry. 

From a Fhrda, by] 


[Elliuti *£- Pry. 

helter-skelter to the fields, laddie barking 
and jumping at the youngsters with uu- 
suppressed delight* 

If you can escape from joining in their 
games— but they are irresistible — do, and 
walk quietly round and take stock of these 
rescued little ones. Notice this small contin- 
gent just starting from the porch. Babies 1 
"ougham only consists of a small covered cart, 

horse of the establishment, the swinging-boats 
are quickly crammed up with passengers, 
and twenty or thirty more little minds are 
again set wondering as to why " the genel- 
man" will wrap his head up in a piece of 
black cloth and cover his eyes whenever he 
wants to jre'Jttowjirial JVtMhthe Castle perambu- 
lator ! ^4ttfcQOT yfjRS U^tcupants — how 
ready the hands to give Susan and Willie a 




From a Photo, by] 


trip round They shout, they jump, they do 
all and more than most children, so wild and 
free is their delight. 

The sun is shining upon these one-time 
waifs and strays, these children of the East 
—the flowers seem to grow for them, and 
the grass keeps green as though to atone for 
the dark days which ushered in their birth. Let 

them sing to-day 
— they were made 
to sing — let them 
he children indeed. 
Let them shout 
and tire their tiny 
limbs in play — 
they will sleep all 
the better for it, 
and eat a bigger 
breakfast in the 
morning* The 
nurses are begin- 
ning to gather 
in their charges. 
Laddie is leaping 
and barking round 
the hedge-rows in 
search of any wan- 

And the inhabi- 
tants of "Babies' 
Castle" congregate on the steps of their home. 
We are saying "flood-bye." "Jim Crow" is 
held tip to the window inside, and little Ernest, 
the blind boy, waves his hands with the 
others and shouts in concert* I drive away. 
But one can hear their voices just as sweet 
to-night as on one day last summer ! 

Harry How. 

[EliioU & Fry, 

From a Pluto, by) 


Ellk4t £ Fry, 

Beauties :— Children. 

From a Photo, by/ A. Fbikhlo. 






from I'JWfii^ipAd 6y 1 



\AUj& Banana. 


Beauties —Children. 


1 * ****** *>* A, Ifajjaj^ 

^™ 1 fl ***** W A CWwtf, /tfr™ 




»S 7 

Front i*hf*U)ffft*ph9 bjf) 

Ml^-- WIN 1 1 I'M!-. 


[Alex* ttaHHil 


Frvtti Photo, by A* tiuiMUnu. 

Qri g inal f ma^S 

JVwm a F\oto. ly] 


|.l WcIIlWHO 

Shafts from an Eastern Qutver. 

By Charles J. Mansford, B.A. 


^ASSAN," called Denviers to 
our guide in an imperative 
tone, as the latter was look- 
ing longingly at the wide 
expanse of sea over 
which our boat was 

helplessly drifting, "lie down yonder 

immediately ! n The 

Arab rose slowly and 

reluctantly, and then 

extended himself at 

the bottom of the 

boat out of sight of 

the tempting waters, 
H How much longer 

are these torments to 

last, Frank ? " I asked 

wearily, as I looked 

into the gaunt, haggard 

face of my companion 

as we sat in the prow 

of our frail craft 

and gazed 

anxiously but 

almost hopelessly 

onward to see if 

land might even 

yet loom up in the 


"Can't say, 

Harold, n he res- 
ponded ; " but I 

think we can hold 

out for two more 

days, and surely 

by that time we 

shall either reach 

some island or 

else be rescued 

by a passing 

vessel." Two 

more days— forty-eight more hours of this 

burning heat and thirst ! I glanced most 

uneasily at our guide as he lay impassively 

i I the boat, then I continued : — 

11 Do you think that Hassan will be able 

to resist the temptation of these maddening 


waters round us for so long as that ?" There 
was a serious look which crossed Denviers 1 
face as he quietly replied : — 

w I hope so, Harold ; we are doing our 
best for him. The Arab gets a double share 
now of our pitifully slender stock, although, 
happily, he doesn't know it ; if he did he 
would certainly refuse to take his dole of rice 

and scanty draught 
of water, and then I'm 
afraid that it would 
be all over with him. 
He bears up bravely 
enough, but I don't 
at all like the bright 
look in his eyes which 
has bten there for the 
last few hours. We 
must have travelled 
now more than half 
way across the Bay of 
Bengal with such a 
driving wind as this 
behind us. Its cer- 
tainly lucky for us 
that our valuables 
were not on board 
the other boat, for 
we shall never see 
that again, nor its 
cowardly occu- 
pants. The horses, 
our tent, and some 
of our weapons are, 
of course, gone al- 
together, but we 
shall be able to 
shift for ourselves 
well enough if once 
we are so lucky as 
to reach land 
" I can't see of what use any weapons are 
just at present," I responded, "nor, for the 
matter of that, the gems which we have 
hidden about our persons. For the whole 
five davs during which we have been driven 

on toWfl.^^E^frV^ wind L h v a : e 4 , not 



seen a living thing except ourselves — not 
even a bird of the smallest size." 

" Because they know more about these 
storms than we do, and make for the land 
accordingly," said Denviers ; then glancing 
again at the Arab, he continued : — 

" We must watch Hassan very closely, and 
if he shows signs of being at all likely to 
lose his self-control, we shall have to tie him 
down. We owe a great deal to him in this 
present difficulty, because it was entirely 
through his advice that we brought any pro- 
visions with us at all." 

"That is true enough," I replied; "but 
how were we to know that a journey which 
we expected would occupy less than six 
hours was to end in our being cast adrift at 
the mercy of wind and wave in such a mere 
cockle-shell as this boat is, and so driven 
sheer across this waste of waters ? " 

"Well, Harold," said Denviers, quietly, "we 
must stick to our original plan of resting 
turn and turn about if we wish to keep our- 
selves alive as long as possible. I will 
continue my watch from the prow, and 
meantime you had better endeavour to obtain 
some rest ; at all events we won't give in just 
yet" He turned his head away from me as 
he spoke and narrowly surveyed the scene 
around us, magnificent as it was, notwith- 
standing its solitude and the perils which 
darkly threatened us. 

Leaving the hut of the Cingalese after our 
adventure with the Dhahs in the forest of 
Ceylon, we had made our way to Trin- 
comalee, where we had embarked upon a 
small sailing boat, similar in size and shape 
to those which may be constantly seen on 
the other side of the island, and which are 
used by the pearl-divers. We had heard 
of some wonderful sea-worn caves, which 
were to be seen on the rocky coast at some 
distance from Trincomalee, and had thus set 
out, intending afterwards to land on a more 
southerly portion of the island — for we had 
determined to traverse the coast, and, re- 
turning to Colombo again, to take ship for 
Burmah. Our possessions were placed in a 
second boat, which had a planked covering 
of a rounded form, beneath which they were 
secured from the dashing spray affecting 
them. We had scarcely got out for about 
an hour's distance when the natives stolidly 
refused to proceed farther, declaring that 
a violent storm was about to burst upon 
us. We, however, insisted on continuing 
our journey, when those in the second 
boat suddenly turned its prow round 
and made hastily for the land, at the 

same time that our own boatman dived 
from the side and dexterously clambered 
up on the retreating boat, leaving us to 
shift for ourselves as best we could. 
Their fears were only too well grounded, for 
before we were able to make an attempt to 
follow them as they coolly made off with our 
property in the boat, the wind struck our 
own little boat heavily, and out to sea we 
went, driven through the rapidly rising waves 
in spite of our efforts to render the boat 

For five days we had now been whirled 
violently along ; a little water and a few hand- 
fuls of rice being all that we had to share 
between the three of us who occupied the 
boat, and upon whom the sun each day beat 
fiercely down in a white heat, increasing our 
sufferings ten-fold — the effects of which could 
be seen plainly enough as we looked into 
each other's faces. 

Behind us the sun had just set in a sky 
that the waves seemed to meet in the dis- 
tance, and to be blended with them into one 
vast purple and crimson heaving mass. 
Round us and before us, the waters curled 
up into giant waves, which flung high into the 
air ridges of white foam and then fell sheer 
down into a yawning gulf, only to rise again 
nearer and nearer to the quivering sides of 
our frail craft, which still pressed on — on to 
where we expected to meet with death rather 
than rescue, as we saw the ripped sail dip 
itself into the seething waters like the wing 
of a wounded sea-bird. 

Following my companion's suggestion I 
lay down and closed my eyes, and was so 
much exhausted, indeed, that before long I 
fell into a restless sleep, from which I at last 
awoke to hear Denviers speaking to me as he 
shook my arm gently to arouse me. 

" Harold," he said, in a subdued tone, " I 
want you to see whether I am deceiving my- 
self or not. Come to the prow of the boat 
and tell me what you can see from there." 

I rose slowly, and as I did so gave a glance 
at the Arab, who was lying quite still in the 
bottom of the boat, where Denviers had com- 
manded him to rest some hours before. Then, 
following the direction in which my com- 
panion pointed, I looked far out across the 
waves. The storm had abated considerably 
in the hours during which I had slept, for 
the waters which stretched round us were 
becoming as still as the starlit sky above. 
Looking carefully ahead of us, I thought that 
in the distance I could discern the faint 
flicker of a flairtev and accordingly pointed it 





" Then I am not mistaken," he exclaimed, 
" I have been watching it for some time, and 
as the waves have become less violent, it 
seemed to shine out ; but I was afraid that 
after all I might be deluding myself by rais- 
ing such a hope of assistance, for, as you 
know, our guide Hassan has been seeing 
land all day, which, unfortunately for us, 
only existed in his imagination," 

" He is asleep," I responded ; " we will 
watch this light together, and when we get 
near to it, then he can be awakened if neces- 
sary," We slowly drew closer and 
closer to the flame, and then we 
thought that we could discern be- 
fore us the mast of a vessel, from 
which the light seemed to be 
hung out into the air. At last we 
were sufficiently near to clearly 
distinguish the mast, which was 
evidently rising from out of the 
sea, for the hull of the vessel was 
not apparent to us, even when 
we were cast close to it 

" A wreck ! " cried Denviers, 
leaning over the prow of our boat. 
4 *We were not the only ones who 
suffered from the effects of the 
driving storm." Then pointing 
a little to the east of the mast, he 
continued : — 

"There is land at last, for 
the tops of several trees are 
plainly to be seen.'* I looked 
eastward as he spoke, and then 
back again to the mast of the 

11 We have been seen by those 
clinging yonder," 1 exclaimed. 
" There is a man evidently 
signalling to us to save turn," 
Denviers scanned the mast be- 
fore us, and replied \ — 

"There is only one man cling- 
ing there, Harold. What a 
strange being he is— look!" Clinging to the 
rigging with one hand, a man, who was 
perfectly black and almost elothless, could 
be seen holding aloft towards us a blazing 
torch, the glare of which fell full upon his face. 

11 We must save him," said Denviers, " but 
I'm afraid there will be some difficulty in 
doing so. Wake Hassan as quickly as you 
can," I roused the Arab, and when he 
scanned the face and form of the apparently 
wrecked man he said, in a puzzled tone : 

*' Sahibs, the man looks like a Papuan, 
but we are far too distant from their land for 
that to be so." 

"The mast and ropes seem to me to be 
very much weather-beaten," I interposed, as 
the light showed them clearly. "Why, the 
wreck is an old one ! " 

"Jump!" cried Denviers, at that moment, 
to the man clinging to the rigging, just as 
the waters, with a swirl, sent us past the ship. 
The watcher flung his blazing torch into the 
waves, and the hiss of the brand was fol- 
lowed by a splash in the sea. The holder 
of it had dived from the rigging and directly 
after reappeared and clambered into our 


boat, saved from death, as we thought — little 
knowing the fell purpose for which he had 
been stationed to hold out the flaring torch 
as a welcoming beacon to be seen afar by any 
vessel in distress, I glanced at the dangerous 
ring of coral reef round the island on which 
the ship had once struck, and then looked at 
the repulsive islander, who sat gazing at us 
with a savage leer. Although somewhat 
resembling a Papuan, as Hassan had said, 
we were soon destined to know what he 
really was, for the Arab, who had been 
glancing narrowly and suspiciously at the 




" Sahibs, trust not this islander. We must 
have reached the land where the Tamils 
dwell. They have a sinister reputation, 
which even your slave has heard. This 
savage is one of those who lure ships on to 
the coral reefs, and of whom dark stories are 
told. He is a black wrecker 3 " 


We managed by means of Hassan to com- 
municate to the man who was with us in the 
boat that we were desperately in need of 
food, to which he made some unintelligible 
response. Hassan pressed the question upon 
him again, and then he volunteered to take 
our boat through the dangerous reefs which 
were distinguishable in the clear waters, and 
to conduct us to the shore of the island, 
which we saw was beautifully wooded. He 
managed the boat with considerable skill, and 
when at last we found ourselves upon land 
once again, we began to think that, perhaps, 
after all, the natives might be friendly dis- 
posed towards us. 

Our new-found guide entered a slight 
crevice in the limestone rock, and came forth 
armed with a stout spear tipped, as we after- 
wards found, with a 
shark's tooth. 

" I suppose we 
must trust to fortune/ 1 
said Denviers, as we 
carefully followed tK j 
black in single file 
over a surface which 
seemed to be covered 
with a mass of holes. 

* f We must get food 
somehow," I res- 
ponded* "It will be 
just as safe to follow 
this Tamil as to remain 
on the shore waiting 
for daybreak. No 
doubt, if we did 
so the news of our 
arrival would be ■ 
taken to the tribe 
and an attack made 
upon us. Thank 
goodness, our 
pistols are in our 
belts after all, al- 
though our other 
weapons went with 
the rest of the 
things which we 

The ground ^ ifeluQfe^"" 

which we were traversing now tiegan to assume 
more the appearance of a zigzag pathway, 
leading steeply downward^ however, for we 
could see it as it twisted far below us, and 
apparently led into a plain* The Tamil who 
was leading the way seemed to purposely 
avoid any conversation with us, and Denviers 
catching up to him grasped him by the 
shoulder. The savage stopped suddenly and 
shortened his hold upon the spear, while his 
face glowed with all the fury of his fierce 

u Where does this path lead to ? " Denviers 
asked, making a motion towards it to explain 
the information which he desired to obtain. 
Hassan hurried up and explained the words 
which were returned in a guttural tone : — 

il To where the food for which ye asked 
may be obtained" 

The path now began to widen out, and 
we found ourselves, on passing over the 
plain which we had seen from above, 
entering a vast grotto from the roof of which 
long crystal prisms hung, while here and 
there natural pillars of limestone seemed to 
give their support to the roof above. Our 
strange guide now fastened a torch of some 
resinous material to the 
butt end of his spear 
and held it high above 
us as we slowly fol- 
lowed him, keeping 
close to each other so 
as to avoid being taken 
by surprise. 

The floor of this 
grotto was strewn with 
the bones of some 
animal, and soon we 
discovered that we were 
entering the haunt of 
the Tamil tribe. From 
the far end of the 
grotto we heard the 
sound of voices, and as 
we approached saw the 
gleam of a wood fire 
lighting up the scene 
before us. Round this 
were gathered a number 
of the tribe to which 
the man belonged, 
their spears resting in 
their hands as though 
they were ever watchful 
and ready to make an 
attack. Uttering a 
peculiar bird-like cry, 

—INDIANA ufe^^ thmappnsed 




the others of our approach, whereupon they 
hastily rose from the fire and spread out so 
that on our nearing them we were immediately 

" Hassan," said Denviers, "tell these grin- 
ning niggers that we mean to go no farther 
until they have provided us with food." 

The Arab managed to make himself 
understood, for the savage who had led 
us into the snare pointed to one of the 
caverns which ran off from the main grotto, 
and said : — 

" Sports of the ocean current, which 
brought ye into the way whence ye may see 
the Great Tamil, enter there and food shall 
be given to ye." 

We entered the place pointed out with 
considerable misgivings, for we had not for- 
gotten the plot of the Hindu fakir. We could 
see very little of its interior, which was only 
partly lighted by the torch which the 
Tamil still carried affixed to his spear. He 
left us there for a few minutes, during 
which we rested on the limestone floor, 
and, being unable to distinguish any part 
of the cavern around us, we watched 
the entry closely, fearing attack. The 
shadows of many spears were flung before 
us by the torch, and, concluding that we 
were being carefully guarded, we decided to 
await quietly the Tamil's return. The much- 
needed food was at length brought to us, 
and consisted of charred fragments of fish, 
in addition to some fruit, which served us 
instead of water, for none of the last was 
given to us. The savage contemptuously 
threw what he had brought at our feet, and 
then departed. Being anxious to escape, 
we ventured to approach again the entrance 
of the cavern, but found ourselves imme- 
diately confronted by a dozen blacks, who 
held their spears in a threatening manner as 
they glared fiercely at us, and uttered a warn- 
ing exclamation. 

" Back to the cave ! " they cried, and 
thinking that it would be unwise for us to 
endeavour to fight our way through them 
till day dawned, we returned reluctantly, and 
threw ourselves down where we had rested 
before. After some time, the Tamil who 
evidently looked upon us as his own 
prisoners entered the cavern, and with a 
shrill laugh motioned to us to follow him. 
We rose, and re-entering the grotto, were led 
by the savage through it, until at last we 
stood confronting a being at whom we gazed 
in amazement for some few minutes. 

Impassive and motionless, the one whom 
we faced rested upon a curiously carved 

throne of state. One hand of the monarch 
held a spear, the butt end of which rested 
upon the ground, while the other hung 
rigidly to his side. But the glare which came 
from the torches which several of the Tamils 
had affixed to their spears revealed to us no 
view of the face of the one sitting there, for, 
over it, to prevent this, was a hideous mask, 
somewhat similar to that which exorcists wear 
in many Eastern countries. The nose was 
perfectly flat, from the sides of the head 
large ears protruded, huge tusks took the 
place of teeth, while the leering eyes were 
made of some reddish, glassy substance, the 
entire mask presenting a most repulsive 
appearance, being evidently intended to strike 
terror into those who beheld it. The strangest 
part of the scene was that one of the Tamils 
stood close by the side of the masked 
monarch, and seemed to act as interpreter, 
for the ruler never spoke, although the ques- 
tions put by his subject soon convinced us 
that we were likely to have to fight our way 
out of the power of the savage horde. 

" The Great Tamil would know why 
ye dared to land upon his sacred shores?" 
the fierce interpreter asked us. Denviers 
turned to Hassan, and said : — 

" Tell the Great Tamil who hides his ugly 
face behind this mask that his treacherous 
subject brought us, and that we want to leave 
his shores as soon as we can." Hassan 
responded to the question, then the savage 
asked : — 

"Will ye present your belts and weapons 
to the Great Tamil as a peace offering ? " 
We looked at the savage in surprise for a 
moment, wondering if he shrewdly guessed 
that we had anything valuable concealed 
there. We soon conjectured rightly that this 
was only a ruse on his part to disarm us, 
and Hassan was instructed to say that we 
never gave away our weapons or belts to 
friends or foes. 

" Then the Great Tamil orders that ye 
be imprisoned in the cavern from which 
ye have come into his presence until ye 
fulfil his command," said the one who was 
apparently employed as interpreter to the 
motionless ruler. We signified our readiness 
to return to the cave, for we thought that if 
attacked there we should have enemies only 
in front of us, whereas at that moment we 
were entirely surrounded. The fierce guards 
as they conducted us back endeavoured to 
incite us to an attack, for they several times 
viciously struck us with the butts of their 
spears, bit, following Denviers' example, I 

T ^^$\$M*WWP, 5TFr an 8 er > waitin 8 for a 

i 9 4 




good opportunity to amply repay them for 
the insult. 

"What a strange ruler, Harold," said 
DenvierSj as we found ourselves once more 
imprisoned within the cave, 

"He made no attempt to speak/ 1 I re- 
sponded ; "at all events, I did not hear any 
words come from his lips. It looked like a 
piece of masquerading more than the inter- 
rogation of three prisoners. I wonder if 
there is any way of escaping out of this place 
other than by the entrance through which we 

"We may as well try to find one," said 
Denviers, and accordingly we groped about 
die dim cave, running our hands over its 
roughened sides, but could discover no 
means of egress* 

"We must take our chance, that is all," 
said my companion, when our efforts had 
proved unsuccessful. " I expect that they 
will make a strong attempt to disarm us, if 
nothing worse than that befalls us. These 
savages have a mania for getting possession 
of civilized weapons. One of our pistols 

would be to them a 
great treasure/" 

" Did you notice the 
bones which strewed 
the cavern when we 
entered? 11 I inter- 
rupted, for a strange 
thought occurred to me. 
"Hush! Harold," 
Denviers whispered, as 
we reclined on the 
hard granite flooring of 
the cave* " I don't 
think Hassan observed 
them, and there is no 
need to let him know 
what we infer from 
them until we cannot 
prevent it. There is no 
reason why we should 
hide from each other 
the fact that these 
savages are evidently 
cannibals, which is in 
my opinion the reason 
why they lure vessels 
upon the reefs here, I 
noticed that several of 
them wore bracelets 
round their arms and 
ankles, taken no doubt 
from their victims. I 
should think t Kit in a 
storm like the one 
which drove us hither, many vessels have 
drifted at times this way, We shrll have to 
fight for our lives, that is pretty certain ; I 
hope it will be in daylight, for as it is 
we should be impaled on their spears without 
having the satisfaction of first shooting a few 
of them." 

"Sahibs," said Hassan, who had been 
resting at a little distance from us, " it will be 
best for us to seek repose in order to be fit 
for fighting, if necessary, when these savages 
demand our weapons." 

"Well, Hassan," said Denviers, "you are 
better off than we are. True we have our 
pistols, but your sword has never left your 
side, and I dare say you will find plenty of 
use for it before long," 

" If the Prophet so wills," said the Ar\b, 
" it will be at the service of the Englishmen, 
I rested for manv hours on the boat before 
we reached this land, and will now keep 
watch lest any treachery be attempted by 
these Tamils. 11 We knew that under the 
circumstances Hasjsar/s keen sense of hearing 
would be nWEaA+MuUMid'&l&HYour own, and 



after a slight protest agreed to leave him to 
his self-imposed task of watching while we 
slept He moved close to the entrance of 
the cave, and we followed his example before 
seeking; repose* Hassan made some further 
remark, to which I do not clearly remember 
responding, the next event recalled being that 
he awoke us from a sound sleep, saying : — 

14 Sahibs, the day has dawned, and the 
Tamils are evidently going to attack us.' J 
We rose to our feet and, assuring ourselves 
that our pistols were safe in our belts, we 
stood at the entrance of the cave and peered 
out The Tamils were gathering round the 
spot, listening eagerly to the man who had 
first brought us into the grotto, and who was 
pointing at the cave in which we were and 
gesticulating wildly to his companions, 


The savage bounded towards us as we 
appeared in the entry, and, grinning fiercely, 
showed his white, protruding teeth. 

** The Great Tamil commands his prisoners 
to appear before him again, w he cried. "He 
would fain learn something of the land 
whence they came," We looked into each 
other's faces irresolute for a minute* If we 
advanced from the cave we might be at once 
surrounded and slain, yet we were unable to 
tell how many of the Tamils 
held the way between us and 
the path down which we had 
come when entering the grotto. 

" Tell him that we are ready 
to follow him/' said Denviers 
to Hassan ; then turning to 
me he whispered: "Harold, 
watch your chance when we 
are before this motionless 
nigger whom they call the 
Great Tamil. If I can devise 
a scheme I will endeavour to 
find a way to surprise them, 
and then we must make a 
dash for liberty/ 1 The Tamils, 
however, made no attempt to 
touch us as we passed out be- 
fore them and followed the 
messenger sent to summon us 
to appear again before their 
monarch. The grotto was still 
gloomy, for the light of day 
did not penetrate well into it 
We could , however, see clearly 
enough, and the being before 
whom we were brought a 
second time seemed more 
repulsive than ever. We 

noticed that the limbs of his subjects were 
tattooed with various designs as they stood 
round us and gazed in awe upon the silent 
form of their monarch. 

"The Great Tamil would know whether 
ye have yet decided to give up your belts 
and weapons, that they may adorn his abode 
with the rest which he has accumulated," 
said the savage who stood by the monarch's 
spear, as he pointed to a part of the grotto 
where we saw a huge heap of what appeared 
to us to be the spoils of several wrecks. Our 
gutde interpreted my companion's reply. 

"We will not be disarmed/' answered 
Denviers. "These are our weapons of defence; 
ye have your own spears, and they should be 
sufficient for your needs." 

"Ye will not?" demanded the savage, 

" No ! " responded Denviers, and he moved 
his right hand to the belt in which his pistols 

" Seize them ! " shrieked the impassioned 
savage ; " they defy us. Drag them to the 
mortar and crush them into dust ! " The 
words had scarcely passed his lips when 
Denviers rushed forward and snatched the 





mask from the Tamil sitting there ! The 
savages around, when they saw this, seemed 
for a moment unable to move ; then they 
threw themselves wildly to the ground and 
grovelled before the face which was thus 
revealed. The motionless arm of the form 
made no attempt to move from the side 
where it hung to protect the mask from 
Denviers' touch, for the rigid features upon 
which we looked at that moment were those 
of the dead ! 

" Quick, Harold ! " exclaimed Denviers,. as 
he saw the momentary panic which his actftm 
had caused among the superstitious Taljrils. 
" On to the entry ! " We bounded over the 
guards as they lay prostrate, and a moment 
afterwards were rushing headlong towards 
the entrance of the grotto. Our escape was 
by no means fully secured, however, for as 
we emerged we found several Tamils prepared 
to bar our further advance. 

Denviers dashed his fist full in the face of 
one of the yelling savages, and in a moment 
got possession of the spear which he had 
poised, while the whirl of Hassan's blade 
cleared our path. I heard the whirr of a 
spear as it narrowly missed my head and 
pierced the ground before me. Wrenching 
it out of the hard ground I followed Hassan 
and Denviers as they darted up the zigzag 
path. On we wenf, the savages hotly 
pursuing us, then those in the van stopped 
until the others from the cave joined them, 
when they all made a mad rush together 
after us. Owing to the path zigzagging as it 
did, we were happily protected in a great 
measure fronr the shower of spears which fell 
around us. 

We had nearly reached the top of the path 
when, turning round, I saw that our pursuers 
were only a few yards away, for the savages 
seemed to leap rather than to run over the 
ground, and certainly would leave us no 
chance to reach our boat and push off from 
them. Denviers saw them too, and cried to 
me :— 

" Quick, Harold, lend Hassan and me a 
hand ! " I saw that they had made for a 
huge piece of granite which was poised on a 
hollow, cup-like base, and directly after- 
wards the three of us were behind it 
straining with all our force to push it forward. 
The foremost savage had all but reached us 
when, with one desperate and successful 
attempt, we sent the monster stone crashing 
down upon the black, yelling horde ! 

We stopped and looked down at the havoc 
which had been wrought among them ; then 
we pressed on, for we knew that our advan- 

tage was likely to be only of short duration, 
and that those who were uninjured would 
dash over their fallen comrades and follow 
us in order to avenge them. Almost im- 
mediately after we reached the spot where 
our boat was moored we saw one of our 
pursuers appear, eagerly searching for our 
whereabouts. We hastily set the sail to the 
breeze, which was blowing from the shore, 
while the savage wildly urged the others, who 
had now reached him, to dash into the water 
and spear us. 

Holding their weapons between their teeth, 
fully twenty of the blacks plunged into the 
sea and made a determined effort to reach 
us. They swam splendidly, keeping their 
fierce eyes fixed upon us as they drew nearer 
and nearer, 

" Shall we shoot them ? " I asked Den- 
viers, as we saw that they were within a short 
distance of us. 

" We don't want to kill any more of these 
black man-eaters," he said ; " but we must 
make an example of one of them, I suppose, 
or they will certainly spear us." 

I watched the savage who was nearest to 
us. He reached the boat, and, holding on 
by one of his black paws, raised himself a 
little, then gripped his spear in the middle 
and drew, it back. Denviers pointed his 
pistol full at the savage and fired. He 
bounded completely out of the water, then 
fell back lifeless among his companions ! 
The death of one of their number so suddenly 
seemed to disconcert the rest, and before 
they could make another attack we were 
standing well out to sea. We saw them swim 
back to the shore and line it in a dark, 
threatening mass, brandishing their useless 
spears, until at last the rising waters hid the 
island from our view. 

" A sharp brush with the niggers, indeed ! " 
said Denviers. " The worst of it is that unless 
we are picked up before long by some vessel 
we must make for some part of the islancj 
again, for we must have food at any cost." 

We had not been at sea, however, more 
than two hours afterwards when Hassalj 
suddenly cried : — 

"Sahibs, a ship!" 

Looking in the direction towards which he 
was turned we saw a vessel with all sails set 
We started up, and before long our signals 
were seen, for a* boat was lowered and we 
were taken* on board. 

" Well, Harold," said Denviers, as we lay 
stretched on the deck that night, talking over 
our adventure^ " strange to say we are bound 

for the ^fffM^ reach * althou 8 h 



we certainly started for it in a very un- 
expected way." 

" Did the sahibs fully observe the stone 
which was hurled 
upon the savages? " 
asked Hassan, who 
was near us, 

Denviers turned 
to him as he re- 
plied : — 

11 We were in 
too much of a 
hurry to do that, 
Hassan, I'm afraid. 
Was there anything 
remarkable about 
it?" The Arab 
looked away over 
the sea for a 
minute —then, as if 


talking to himself, he answered : " Great is 
Allah and his servant Mahomet, and 

strange the way in which he saved us. 

The huge stone which crushed the savages 

was the same with which they have de- 
stroyed their victims in the 
hollowed - out mortar in 
which it stood ! I have 
once before seen such a 
stone, and the death to 
which they condemned 
us drew my attention to 
it as we pushed it down 
upon them." 

11 Then," said Denviers, 
" their strange monarch was 
not disappointed after all 
in his sentence being car- 
ried out — only it affected 
his own subjects," 

"That," said Hassan, 
"is not an infrequent 
occurrence in the East ; 
but so long as the proper 
number perishes, surely 
it matters little who com- 
plete it fully." 

" A very pleasant view 
of the case, Hassan," 
said Denviers ; *' only we 
who live Westward will, 1 
hope^ be in no particular 
hurry to adopt such a 
custom; but go and see 
if you can find out where 
our berths are, for we want 
to turn in." The Arab 
obeyed, and returned in 
a few minutes, saying that 

he, the unworthy latchet of our shoes, had 

discovered them. 

by Google 

Original from 

V6L v.— 36. 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 




POKING round the House of 
Commons now gathered for its 
second Session, one is struck by 
the havoc death and other 
circumstances have made with 
the assembly that filled the 
same chamber twenty years ago, when I first 
looked on from behind the Speaker's Chair. 
Parliament, like the heathen goddess, 
devours its own children, But the rapidity 
with which the process is completed turns 
out on minute inquiry to be a little startling, 
Of the six hundred and seventy members 
who form the present House of Commons, 
how many does the Speaker suppose sat 
with him in the Session of 1873 ? 

Mr. Peel him- 
self was then in 
the very prime 
of life, had al- 
ready been eight 
years member 
for Warwick, 
and by favour 
of his father's old 
friend and once 
young disci pi e r 
held the office of 
Secretary to the 
Board of Trade. 
Members, if they 
paid any atten- 
tion to the unobtrusive personality seated 
at the remote end of the Treasury Bench, 
never thought the day would come when 
the member for Warwick would step into 
the Chair and rapidly establish a reputation 
as the best Speaker of 
modern times. 

I have a recollection of 
seeing Mr. Peel stand at the 
table answering a question 
connected with his depart- 
ment; but I noticed him 
only because he was the 
youngest son of the great 
Sir Robert Peel, and was a 
striking contrast to his 
brother Robert, a flamboyant 
personage who at that time 
filled considerable space 
below the gangway. 



51 k KObEHT J'EEL. 

In addition to Mr. Peel there are in the 
present House of Commons exactly fifty-one 
members who sat in Parliament in the Session 
of 1873— fifty-two out of six hundred and fifty- 
eight as the House of that 
day was numbered. Tick- 
ing them off in alphabetical 
order, the first of the Old 
Guard, still hale and en- 
joying the respect and es- 
teem of members on both 
sides of the House, is Sir 
Walter Barttelot. As 
Colonel Barttelot he was 
known to the Parliament 
of 1873. But since then, 
to quote a phrase he has 
emphatically reiterated in 
the ears of many Parlia- 
ments, he has M gone one 
step farther/' and become a baronet. 

This tendency to forward movement seems 
to have been hereditary ; Sir Walter's father, 
long honourably known as Smyth, going 
u one step farther " and assuming the name 
of Barttelot* Colonel Barttelot did not loom 
large in the Parliament of 1868-74, though 
he was always ready to do sentry duty on 
nights when the House was in Committee 
on the Army Estimates* It was the Parlia- 
ment of 1874-80, when the air was full of 
rumours of war, when Russia and Turkey 
clutched each other by the throat at Plevna, 
and when the House of Commons, meeting 
for ordinary business, was one night startled 
by news that the Russian Army was at the 
gates of Constantinople— it was then Colonel 
Barttelot J s military experience (chiefly gained 
in discharge of his duties as 
Lieutenant - Colonel of the 
Second Battalion Sussex 
Rifle Volunteers) was lavishly 
placed at the disposal of 
the House and the country. 

When Disraeli was going 
out of office he made the 
Colonel a baronet, a distinc- 
tion the more honourable to 
both since Colonel Barttelot, 
though a loyal Conservative, 
was never a party hack. 

Sir Michael' 1 1 each sat 



W + B, HEACH- 

in 1873, and had not climbed higher 
up the Ministerial ladder than the Under 
Secretaryship of the Home Department 
Another Beach, then as now in the House, 
was the member for North Hants. William 
Wither Bramston Beach is his full style. Mr. 
Beach has been in Parliament thirty-six 
years, having through that period uninter- 
ruptedly represented his native county, 
Hampshire* That is a distinction he shares 
with few members to-day, and to it is added 
the privilege of being personally the obscurest 
man in the Commons, I do not suppose 
there are a hundred men in the House 
to-day who at a full 
muster could point out 
the member for An- 
dover. A dose at- 
tendance upon Parlia- 
ment through twenty 
years necessarily gives 
me a pretty intimate 
knowledge of mem- 
, bers, But I not only 
do not know Mr, 
Beach by sight, but 
never heard of his 
existence till, attracted 
by the study of relics 
of the Parliament 
elected in 1868, I went through the list 

Another old member still with us is Mr. 
Michael Biddulph, a partner in that highly- 
respectable firm, Cocks, Biddulph, and Co. 
Twenty years ago Mr, Biddulph sat as 
member for his native county of Hereford 3 
ranked as a Liberal and a reformer, and 
voted for the Disestab- 
lishment of the Irish 
Church and other mea- 
sures forming part of 
Mr. Gladstone's policy, 
But political events with 
him, as with some others, 
have moved too rapidly, 
and now he t sitting as 
member for the Ross 
Division of the county, 
votes with the Conserva- 

Mr, Jacob Bright is 
still left to us, repre- 
senting a division of 
the city for which he 
was first elected in 
November, 1867, Mr. 
A- H. Brown represents 
to-day a Shropshire 
borough, as he did 


twenty ye**rs ago, I do not think he looks 
a day older than when he sat for Wenlock 
in 1873, But though then only twenty-nine, 
as the almanack reckons, he was a middle- 
aged young man with whom it was always 
difficult to connect associations of a cornetcy 
in the 5th Dragoon Guards, a post of 
danger which family tradition persistently 
assigns to him. 
Twenty years 
ago the House 
was still strug- 
gling with the 
necessity of 
recognising a 
In 1868, one 
Mr. Henry 
Campbell had 
been elected 
member for 
the Stirling 
Districts, Four years Jater, for reasons, it 
is understood, not unconnected with a 
legacy, he added the name of Bannerman 
to his patronymic. At that time, and till 
the dissolution, he sat on the Treasury Bench 
as Financial Secretary to the War Office. 

Mr, Henry Chaplin is another member, 
happily still left to us, who has, over a long 
space of years, represented his native county. 
Tt was .as member 
for Mid -Lincoln- 
shire he entered 
the House of 
Commons at 
the memorable 
general election 
of 1868, the fate 
of the large ma- 
jority of -his col- 
leagues impressing 
upon him at the 
epoch a deeply 
rooted dislike of 
Mr. Gladstone £*? 

and all his works. HB - MBKftV ******* 

Mr. Jeremiah James Colman, still member 
for Norwich, has sat for that borough since 
February, 1871, and has preserved, unto this 
last, the sturdy Liberalism imbued with 
which he embarked on political life. When 
he entered the House he made the solemn 
record that J. J. G "does not consider the 
recent Reform Bill as the end at which we 
should rest," The Liberal Party has marched 
far since then, and the great Norwich manu- 
facturer has always mustered in the van. 



In the Session of 1873, Sir Charles Dilke 
had but lately crossed the threshold of man- 
hood, bearing his days before him, and 
possibly viewing the brilliant career through 

which for a time 
he strongly strode. 
Just thirty, married 
a year, home from 
his trip round the 
world, with Greater 
Britain still running 
th rough s uccess 1 ve 
editions, the young 
member for Chel- 


sea had the ball at his feet. He had 
lately kicked it with audacious eccentricity. 
Two years earlier he had made his speech in 
Committee of Supply on the Civil List. If 
such an address were delivered in the coming 
Session it would barely attract notice any 
more than does a journey to America in one 
of the White Star Liners. It was different 
in the case of Columbus, and in degree Sir 
Charles Dilke was the Columbus of attack 
on the extravagance in connection with the 

What he said then is said now ever)' 
Session, with sharper point, and even more 
uncompromising directness, by Mr, Labou- 
chere, Mr, Storey, and others. It was new 
to the House of Commons twenty-two years 
ago, and when Mr. Auberon Herbert (to-day 
a sedate gentleman, who writes good Tory 
letters to the Times) seconded the motion in a 
speech of almost hysterical vehemence, there 
followed a scene that stands memorable even 
in the long series that succeeded it in the 
following Parliament Mr. James I^owther 
was profoundly moved ; whilst as for Mr 
Cavendish Bentinck, his feelings of loyalty 
to the Throne were so overwrought that, as 
was recorded at the time, he went out 
behind the Speaker's chair, and crowed 
thrice. Amid the uproar, someone, antici- 
pating the action of Mr. Joseph Gill is 
Biggar on another historic occasion, 4I spied 
strangers," The galleries were cleared, and 
for an hour there raged throughout the 

i * 


House a wild scene. When the doors were 
opened and the public readmitted, the Com- 
mittee was found placidly agreeing to the 
vote Sir Charles Dilke had challenged. 

Mr. George Dixon is one of the members 
for Birmingham, as he 
was twenty years ago, 
but he wears his 
party rue with a 
difference. In 1873 
he caused himself to 
be entered in li Dod J ' 
as "an advanced 
Liberal, opposed to 
the ratepaying clause 
of the Reform Act, 
and in favour of an 
amendment of those 
laws which tend to 
accumulate landed 
property/' Now Ml 
Dixon has joined 
"the gentlemen of 

England," whose tendency to accumulate 
landed property shocks him no more. 

Sir William 
Dyke was plain 
Hart Dyke in 
'73 ; then, as 
now, one of the 
members for 
Kent, and not 
yet whip of the 
Liberal Party 3 
much less Min- 
ister of Educa- 
tion, Mr. G. H. 
Finch also then, 
as now, was member for Rutland, running Mr. 
Beach close for the prize of modest obscurity. 

In the Session of 1873 Mr. Gladstone 
was Prime Minister, sixty-four years of age, 
and wearied to death, I well remember him 
seated on the Treasury Bench in those days, 
with eager face and restless body* Some- 
times, as morning broke on the long, tur- 
bulent sitting, he let his head fall back on 
the bench, closing his eyes and seeming to 
sleep ; the worn face the while taking on ten 
years of added age. In the last two Sessions 
of the Salisbury Parliament he often looked 
younger than he had done eighteen or 
nineteen years earlier. Then, as has 
happened to him since, his enemies were 
those of his own household. This Session 
— of 1873— saw the birth of the Irish Uni- 
versity BilL which broke the power of the 
strongest Ministry (hat had ruled in England 
since the Reform Bill 




Mr. Gladstone introduced the Bill himself, 
and though it was singularly intricate, he 
within the space of three hours not only made 
it clear from preamble to schedule, but 
had talked over a predeter- 
minedly hostile House into 
believing it would do well 
to accept it. Mr, Horsman, 
not an emotional person, 
went home after listening 
to the speech, and wrote 
a glowing letter to the 
Times, in which he hailed 
Mr. Gladstone and the Irish 
University Bill as the most 
notable of the recent dis- 
pensations of a beneficent 
Providence. I-ater, when 
the Tea-room teemed with 
cabal f and revolt rapidly 
spread through the Liberal 
host, presaging the defeat 
of the Government, Mr. 
Horsman, in his most 
solemn manner, explained 
away this letter to a crowded and hilar- 
ious House. The only difference between 
him and seven-eighths of Mr, Gladstone's 
audience was that he had committed the in- 
discretion of putting pen to paper whilst he 
was yet under the spell of the orator, the 
others going home to bed to think it over. 

On the eve of a new departure, once more 
Premier, idol of the populace, and captain of 
a majority in the House of Commons, Mr, 
Gladstone's thoughts may peradventure turn 
to those weary days twenty years dead. He 
would not forget one Wednesday afternoon 
when the University Education Bill was in 
Committeej and Mr, Charles Miall was 
speaking from the middle of the third bench 
below the gangway. The Nonconformist 
conscience then, as now, w r as a ticklish thing. 
It had been pricked by too generous provision 
made 1 for an alien Church, and Mr, Miall was 
solemnly, and with indubitable honest regret, 
explaining how it would be impossible for 
him to support the Government. Mr. Glad- 
stone listened with lowering brow and face 
growing ashy pale with anger When plain, 
commonplace Mr. Miall resumed his seat, Mr* 
Gladstone leaped to his feet with torpedoic 
action and energy. With voice stinging with 
angry scorn, and with magnificent gesture of 
the hand, designed for the cluster of 
malcontents below the gangway, he besought 
the honourable gentleman " in Heaven's 
name " to take his support elsewhere. The 
injunction was obeyed- The Bill was thrown 


out by a majority of three, and though, Mr. 
Disraeli wisely declining to take office, Mr, 
Gladstone remained on the Treasury Bench, 
his power was shattered, and he and the 
Liberal party went out into 
the wilderness to tarry 
there for six long years. 

To this catastrophe 
gentlemen at that time re- 
spectively known as Mr. 
Vernon Harcourt and Mr. 
Henry James appreciably 
contributed* They worried 
Mr. Gladstone into divid- 
ing between them the law 
offices of the Crown. But 
this turn of affairs came 
too late to be of advantage 
to the nation. The only 
reminders of that episode 
in their political career are 
the title of knighthood and 
a sk months' salary earned 
in the recess preceding the 
general election of 1874, 
Mr. Disraeli's keen sight recognised the 
game being played on the Front Bench below 
the gangway, where the two then inseparable 
friends sat shoulder to shoulder. " I do not 
know," he slyly said, one night when the 
Ministerial crisis was impending, "whether 
the House is yet to regard the observations 
of the hon. member for Oxford (Vernon 
Harcourt) as carrying the authority of a 
Solicitor-General ! * 

Of members holding official or ex-official 
positions who will gather in the House of 
Commons this month, and who were in Parlia- 
ment in 1873, are Mr. Goschen, then First 
Lord of the Admiralty, and Liberal member 
for the City of London ; Lord George Hamil- 
ton, member for 
Middlesex, and 
not yet a Minister; 
Mr. Shaw-Le- 
fevre, member for 
Reading, and 
Secretary to the 
Admiralty; Mr. J. 
Lowther, not yet 
advanced beyond 
the Secretaryship 
of tho Poor Law 
Board, and that 
held only for a 
few months pend- 
ing the Torv rout 
in 1868 ; Mr. 
P s LVib\y>yiEJiilT ;,r/ Henry Matthews, 



then sitting as Liberal member for Dungarvan, 
proud of having voted for the Disestablishment 
of the Irish Church in 1869; Mr. Osborne 
Morgan, not yet on the Treasury Bench ; Mr. 
Mundella, inseparable from Sheffield, then 
sitting below the gangway, serving a 
useful apprenticeship for the high office 
to which he has since been called ; 
George Otto Trevelyan, now Sir George* 
then his 
h ig h est 
title to 
fame be- 
ing the 
Wallah; Mr. 
David Plunket, 
member for 
Dublin Univer- 
sity, a private 
member seated 
on a backbench; 
Sir Ughtred Kay 


Shuttleworth, just 
married, interested in the "First Principles 
of Modern Chemistry ,J ; and Mr. Stansfeld, 
President of the Local Government Board, 
the still rising hope of the Radical party. 

Members of the Parliament of 1868 in 
the House to-day, seated on back benches 
above or below the gangway, are Colonel 
Gourley, inconsolable at the expenditure on 
Royal yachts ; Mr, Hanbury, as youthful- 
looking as his contemporary^ ex- Cornet 
Brown, is aged ; Mr, 
Staveley Hill, who is 
reported to possess an 
appreciable area of 
the American Con* 
tinent; Mr. Illingworth, 
who approaches the term 
of a quarter of a century J s 
unobtrusive but useful 
Parliamentary service \ 
Mr, Johnston, still of 
Ballykilheg, but no longer 
a Liberal, as he ranked 
twenty years ago; Sir John 
Ken na way, still towering 
over his leaders from a 
back bench above the 
gangway ; Sir Wilfrid 
Lawson, increasingly wise, 
and not less gay than of 
yore; Mr, Lea, who has 


gone over to the 

enemy he faced in 1873 ; Sir John Lub- 
bock, who, though no sluggard, still from 
time to time goes to the ants ; Mr. Peter 
M 'Lagan, who has succeeded Sir Charles 
Forster as Chai r ma n of 
theCommitteeon Peti- 
tions; Sir John Mow- 
bray, still, as in 1873, 
"in favour of sober, 
rational^ safe, and 
te m pern t e progress, ' J 
and meanwhile voting 
against all Liberal 
measures; Sir Richard 
Paget, model of the 
old-fash ioned Pari i a- 
ment man ; Sir John 
Pender, who, after long 
exile, has returned to 
the Wick Burghs ; 
Mr, T, B. Potter, still member for Roch- 
dale, as he has been these twenty-seven 
years ; Mr. F. S. Powell, now Sir Francis ; 
Mr, William Rath bone, still, as in times 
of yore, "a decided Liberal"; Sir Matthew 
White Ridley, not yet Speaker; Sir Bernard 
Samuelson, back again to Banbury Cross ; 
Mr. J. C Stevenson, all these years 
member for South Shields ; Mr. C P. 
Villiers, grown out of Liberalism into the 
Fatherhood of the House ; Mr, Hussey 
Vivian, now Sir Hussey; Mr. Whitbread, su- 
premely sententious, courageously common- 
place ; and Colonel 

But here there 
seems a mistake. 
There was an 
Edward James 
Sa under son in the 
Session of 1873 as 
there is one in the 
Session of 1893, But 
Edward James of 
twenty years ago sat 
for Cavan> ranked as 
a Liberal, and voted 
with Mr, Gladstone, 
which the Colonel 
Sa under son of to-day 
certainly does not 
Yet, oddly enough, 
both date their elec- 
tion addresses from 
Castle Saunderson, Belturbet, Co. Cavan. 


by Google 

Original from 

juwi^ By LeIla.Hanoum. 

Translated from a Turkish Story. 

WAS sold in Circassia when I 
was only six years old My 
uncle, Hamdi-bey, who had 
inherited nothing from his 
dying brother but two child- 
ren, soon got rid of us both. 
My brother All was handed over to some 
dervishes at the Mosque of Ytfni-Chfifr, and 
I was sent to Constantinople. 

The slave-dealer to whom I was taken was 
a woman who knew nothing of our language 
so that I was obliged to learn Turkish in 
order to understand my new mistress. Num- 
bers of customers came to her, and every 
day one or other of my companion slaves 
went away with their new owners- 
Alas ! my lot seemed terrible to me. I 
was nothing but a slave, and as such I had 
to humble myself to the dust in the presence 
of my mistress, who brought us up to be able 
to listen with the most immovable expression 
on our faces, and with smiles on our lips, 
to all the good qualities or faults that her 
customers found in us. 

The first time that I was taken to the 
silamlik (reception-room) I was ten years old, 
I was considered very pretty, and my mistress 
had bought me a costurnc of pink cotton, 
covered with a floral design ; she had had my 
nails tinted and my hair plaited, and 
expected to get a very good price for me. I 
had been taught to dance, to curtesy humbly 
to the men and to kiss the ladies* firadje 
(cloaks), to hand the coffee (whilst kneeling) 

to the visitors, or stand by the door with my 
arms folded ready to answer the first 
summons. These were certainly not very 
great accomplishments, but for a child of my 
age they were considered enough, especially 
as, added to all that, I had a very white skin, 
a slender, graceful figure, black eyes and 
beautiful teeth. 

I fdt very much agitated on finding 
myself amongst all the other slaves who 
were waiting for purchasers. Most of them 
were poor girls who had been brought there 
to be exchanged. They had been sent away 
from one harem, and would probably have 
to go to some other. My heart was filled 
with a vague kind of dread of I knew not 
what, when suddenly my eyes rested on 
three hideous negroes, who had come there 
to buy some slaves for the harem of their 
Pasha. They were all three leaning back on 
the sofa discussing the merits and defects of 
the various girls standing around them. 

"Her eyes are too near together," said 
one of them, 

" That one looks ill" 

"This tall one is so round-backed." 

I shivered on hearing these remarks, whilst 
the poor girls themselves blushed with shame 
or turned livid with anger. 

"Come here, Fdiknaz," called out my 
mistress, for I was hiding behind my com- 
panions. I went forward with lowered eyes, 
but my heart was beating wildly with 
indignation and fear. As soon as the negroes 
caught; ^ig^i.^Bf'HiiElifli^i said something in 




Arabic and laughed, and this was not lost on 
my mistress, 

" Where does this on : come from ? " asked 
one of them, after examining me attentively. 

" She is a Circassian. She has cost me a 
lot of money, for 1 bought her four years ago 
and have been bringing her up carefully. 
She is very intelligent and will be very pretty, 
Bir tlmay {quite a diamond), 1 * she added, in 
a whisper. " F£liknaz, dance for us, and 
show us how graceful you can be." 

I drew back, blushing, and murmured, 
"There is no music for me to dance to." 

"That doesn't matter at all I'll sing 
som&thing for you. Come, commence at 
once ! " 

I bowed silently and went back to the end 
of the room, and then came forward again 
dancing, bowing to the right and left on my 
way, whilst my mistress beat time on an old 
drum and sang the air of the yass&dt dance 
in a hoarse voice. In spite of my pride and 
my terror, my dancing appeared to please 
these men. 

*_. _^ 

^We will certainly buy 
Fdiknaz," said one of 
them; "how much will 
you take for her ? M 

*' Twelve K£satchi£s* ! 
not a fraction less." 

The negro drew a large 
purse out of his pocket 
and counted the money 
over to my mistress* As 
soon as she had received 
it she turned to me and 
said : — 

" You ought to be thank- 
ful, F^liknaz, for you are 
a lucky girl Here you 
are, the first time you have 
been shown, bought for 
the wealthy Said Pasha, 
and you are to wait upon 
a charming Hanoum of 
your own age. Mind and 
be obedient F^liknaz; it 
is the only thing for a 

I bent to kiss my mis- 
tress's hand, but she raised 
my face and kissed my fore- 
head This caress was too 
much for me at such a 
moment, and nr- eyes 
filled with tears. An in- 
tense craving for affection 
is always felt by all who 
are desolate. Orphans 
and slaves especially know this to their cost 
The negroes laughed at my sensitiveness, 
and pushed me towards the door, one of 
them saying, " You've got a soft heart and a 
face of marble, but you will change as you 
get older." 

I did not attempt to reply, but just walked 
along in silence. It would be impossible to 
give an idea of the anguish I felt when walk- 
ing through the Stamboul streets, my hand 
held by one of these men. I wondered what 
kind of a harem I was going to be put into. 
" Oh, Allah ! " I cried, and I lifted my eyes 
towards Him, and He surely heard my un- 
altered prayer, for is not Allah the protector 
of all who are wretched and forlorn ? 


The old slave-woman had told me the truth. 
My new mistress, Adil£-Hanoum t was good 
and kind, and to this day my heart is filled 
with gratitude when I think of her. 

Allah had certainly cared for me. So 

■OneK M^aWk^SHl 




many of my companion-slaves 
had, at ten years old, been 
obliged to go and live in 
some poor Mussulmans house 
to do the rough work and 
look after the children. They 
had to live in unhealthy parts 
of the town, and for them 
the hardships of poverty were 
added to the miseries of 
slavery^ whilst I had a most 
luxurious life , and was petted 
and cared for by Adile- 

I had only one trouble in 
my new home, and 
that was the cruelty 
and the fear I felt 
of my little mis- 
tress's brother, 
Mourad-bey, It 
seemed as though, 
tor some inexplic- 
able reason, he 
hated me ; and he 
took every oppor- 
tunity of teasing 
me, and was only 
satisfied when I 
took refuge at his 
sister's feet and 
burst into tears. 

In spite of all 
this I liked Mourad- 
bey He was six 
yean, older than I, 
and was so strong 
and handsome that 
I could not help 
forgiving him j and, 
indeed, I just wor- 
shipped him. 

When Adili- 
Hanoum was fourteen 
gaged her to a young 
at Salon ica, and whom 
see until the eve of her marriage. This 
Turkish custom of marrying a perfect stranger 
seemed to me terrible, and I spoke of it to 
my young mistress. 

She replied in a resigned tone : " Why 
should we trouble ourselves about a future 
which Allah has arranged ? Each star is safe 
in the firmament, no matter in what place 
it is." 

One evening I was walking up and down 
on the closed balcony outside the haremiik. 
I was feeling very sad and lonely, when sud- 


her parents en- 
Bey who lived 
she would not 

denly I heard steps 
behind me 3 and by 
the beating of my 
heart I knew that 
it was Mourad-bey, 
"F^liknaz," he 
said, seizing me 
by the arm, "what 
are you doing here, 
all alone ? ■ 

" I was thinking 
of my country, Bey- 
Eflendi. In our 
Circassia all men 
are equal, just like 
the ears of corn in 
a field." 

£t Look up at me 
again like that, 
F^liknaz; your eyes 
are gloomy and 
troubled, like the 
Bosphorus on a 
stormy day. ' 

" It is because 

my heart is like 

that," I said, sadly. 

*' Do you know 

that I am going 

to be married ? " 

he asked, after a moment's 


I did not reply, but kept 
my eyes fixed on the ground* 

"You are thinking how 
unhappy I shall make my 
wife." he continued ; "how 
she will suffer from my bad 
treatment/ 1 

" Oh ! no," I exclaimed 

'* I o3 not think she will be 

unhappy. You will, of course, 

love her, and that is different. 

You are unkind to w, but then that is 

not the same," 

i4 You think I do not lovejw," said the 
Bey, taking my hands and pressing them so 
that it seemed as though he would crush them 
in his grasp, u You are mistaken, F^liknaz* 
I love you madly, passionately ; I love you 
so much that 1 would rather see you dead 
here at my feet than that you should ever 
belong to any other than to me ! " 

11 Why have you been so unkind to me 
always, then ? " I murmured, half-closing my 
eyes, for he was gazing at me with such an 
intense expression on his dark, handsome 

fac ^Mfi&Wiftr look up at him 

VoL v. — 37. 




** Because when I have seen you suffering 
through me it has hurt me too ; and yet it has 
been a Joy to me to know you were thinking 
of me and to suffer with you, for whenever I 
have made you unhappy, little one, I have 
been sttll more so myself. Your smiles and 
your gentleness have tamed me though, at 
last ; and now you shall be mine, not as 
Fdliknaz the slave, but as F€liknaz-Hanoum f 
for I respect you t my darling, as much as I 
love you ! n 

Mourad-bey then took me in his arms and 
kissed my face and neck, and then he went 
back to his rooms, leaving me there leaning 
on the balcony 
and trembling 
all over. 

Allah had 
surely cared for 
me, for I had 
never even 
dared to dream 
of such happi- 
ness as this* 

And so I be- 
came a Hanaunu 
My dear Adil£ 
was my sister, 
and though after 
years of habit 
I was always 
throwing myself 
down at her 
feet, she would 
make me get 
up and sit at 
her side, either 

on the divan or in the carriage. 
Mourad's love for me had put aside 
the barrier which had separated us. 
There was, however, now a terrible 
one between my slaves and mvsdf. 
Most of them were poor girls from 
my own country and of my own rank. 
Until now we had been companions 
and friends, but I felt that they detested 
me at present as much as they used 
to love me, and I was afraid of their 
hatred. They had all of them undoubtedly 
hoped to find favour in the eyes of their 
young master, and now that I was raised to 
so high a position their hatred was terrible. 
I did my utmost : I obtained all kinds of 
favours for them ; but all to no purpose, for 
they were unjust and unreasonable. 

My great refuge and consolation was 
Mourad's love for me — he was now just as 
gentle and considerate as he had been 

tyrannical and overbearing. My sister-in-law 
was married on the same dav that I was t and 
went away to Salonica, and so I lost my 
dearest friend. 

Mourad loved me, I think, more and more, 
and when a little son was born to us it 
seemed as though my cup of happiness was 
full. I had only one trouble : the knowledge 

of the hatred of my slaves ; and after the 
birth of my little boy> that increased, for in 
the East, the only bond which makes 
a marriage indissoluble is the birth of a 

When our little son was a few months 
old Mourad went to spend a week with his 
father, who was then living at Beicos. I did 
not mind st^yirw^atonp-rtei^few days, as all 
my time was taken "tip wnn my baby-boy. I 



took entire charge of him, and would not 
trust anyone else to watch over him at all. 

One night, when eleven o'clock struck, 
everything was silent in the harem ; evi~ 
dently everyone was asleep* 

Suddenly the door of my room was pushed 
open, and I saw the face of one of my slaves. 
She was very pale, and said in a defiant tone, 
" Fire, fire ! The conak (house) is on fire ! " 
Then she laughed, a terrible, wild laugh it 
was too, and she locked my door and rushed 
Away. Fire ! Why, that meant ruin and death ! 

I had jumped up immediately, and now 
rushed to the win- 
dow. There was a 
red glow in the sky 
over our house and 
I heard the crack- 
ling of wood and 
saw terrible smoke. 
Nearly wild with 
fright I took my 
child in my arms, 
snatched up my 
case of jewels, and 
wrapping myself 
up in a long white 
simare, I hurried to 
the door. Alas! it 
wastootrue; thegirl 
had indeed locked 
it ! The window, 
with lattice -work 
outside, looked on 
to a paved court- 
yard, and my room 
was on the second 
floor of the house. 

I heard the cry of 

II Yamghm var 1 7 * 
{fire, fire) being re- 
peated like an echo 
to my misery. 

14 Oh, Allah ! n 
I cried, " my child, 
my child ! " A 
shiver ran through 
me at the horrible 
idea of being 
burned alive and 
not being able to save him. 

I called out from the window, but all in 
vain. The noisy crowd on the other side of 
the house, and the crackling of the wood, 
drowned the sound of my voice. 

I did my utmost to keep calm, and I 
walked again to the door and shook it with 


all my strength ; then I went and looked only 

out of the window, but that only offered us a 
speedy and certain death. I could now hear 
the sound of the beams giving way overhead. 
Had I been alone I should undoubtedly have 
fainted, but I had my child, and so I was 
obliged to be brave. 

Suddenly an idea came to me. There was 
a little closet leading out of my room, in 
which we kept extra covers and mattresses 
for the beds, There was a small window in 
this closet looking on to the roof of the stables. 
This was my only hope or chance. I fastened 
my child firmly to me with a wide silk scarf, 
and then I got out of the window and 

dropped on to the 
roof of the stable, 
which was about 
two yards below* 
Everything around 
me was covered 
with smoke, but 
fortunately there 
were gusts of wund, 
which drove it 
away, enabling me 
to see what I was 
doing. From the 
roof to the ground 
I had to let myself 
down, and then 
jump. I sprained 
my wrist and hurt 
my head terribly in 
falling, but my child 
was safe. I rushed 
across the court- 
yard and out to the 
opposite side of the road, and had only 
just time to sit down behind a low wall 
away from the crowd, when I fainted 

Whkn I came to myself again, nothing 
remained of our home but a smoking 
ruin, upon which the iouloumbad jis 
were still throwing water, The neigh- 
bours and a crowd of other people 
were watching the fire finish its work. 
Not very far away from me, among 
the spectators, I recognised Mourad- 
bey, standing in the midst of a little 
group of friends. 

His face was perfectly livid, and his eyes 
were wild with grief. I saw him pick up a burn- 
ing splinter from the wreck of his home, where 
he believed all that he loved had perished. 
He offered it to his friend, who was lighting 

his tmtfjHM Ep^v bitt f>'' I"™ 5 is lhe 

v hospitality I nave now to offer ! 



The tone of his voice startled 
me — it was full of utter des- 
pair, and I saw that his lips 
quivered as he spoke. 

I could not bear to 
see him suffer like 
that another second, 

" Bey Effendi ! n 
I cried, "your son 
is saved I " 

He turned round, 
but I was covered 
with my torn simare 7 
which was all stained 
with mud ; the light 
did not fall on me, 
and he did not recog- 
nise me at all My 
voice, too, must have 
sounded strange, for after all the 
emotion and torture I had gone 
through, and then my long fainting- 
fit, I could scarcely articulate a 
sound. He saw the baby which 
I was holding up, and stepped 

"What is he to me," he said, 
u without my F£liknaz?" 

"Mourad!" I exclaimed, "I am 
here, too! He darted to me, and 
tuuk me in his arms ; then, with 
his eyes full of tears, he looked at me 
tenderly and, kissed me over and over 

"Effendis," he cried, turning at last to his 
friends, and with a joyous ring in his voice, 
" I thought I was ruined, but Allah has given 
me back my dearest treasure. Do not pity 
me any more, I am perfectly happy ! IJ 

We lost a great deal of our wealth by that 
fire. Our slaves had escaped, taking with 
them all our most valuable things. 


Mourad is quite certain that the women 
had set fire to the house from jealousy, but 
instead of regretting our former wealth, he 
does all in his power to make up for it by 
increased attention and care for me, and 
his only trouble is to see me waiting upon 
hi in. 

But whenever he says anything about 
that I throw my arms around his neck 
and whisper, " Have you forgotten, Mourad, 
my husband, that your Feliknaz is your 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 

\sd$ j|^ s K 


iNE day the Lord Cham- 
berlain rushed into the 
throne - room of the 
palace j panting with 
excitement. The aris- 
tocracy assembled there 
crowded round him with 
intense interest. 

"The King has just 
got a new Idea ! " he 
gasped, with eyes round 
with admiration. "Such 
a magnificent Idea — ! " 

"It is indeed ! Mar- 
vellous I * said the aris- 
tocracy* " By Jove — 
really the most brilliant 
Idea we ever 1 }3 

" But you haven't 
heard the Idea yet," 
said the Lord Cham- 
berlain. "It's this/' and 
he proceeded to tell 
them the Idea. They 
were stricken dumb 
with reverential admira- 
tion ; it was some time 
before they 
could even 
coo little 
murmurs of 
inarticulate wonder. 

"The King has just 
got a new Idea/ 3 cried 
the Royal footman {who 
was also re- 
porter to the 
Press), burst- 
ing into the 
office of The 
Courtier, the 
leading aris- 
tocratic pa- 
per, with 
earls for 
and heirs to baronetcies for devils. 
" Has he, indeed ? Splendid ! " cried the 





editor, " Here, Jones " — (the Duke of 
Jones, chief leader-writer) — " just let me have 
three columns in praise 
of the King's Idea. 
Enlarge upon the glor- 
ious results it will bring 
about in the direction 
of national glory , im- 
perial unity, commercial 
prosperity, individual 

liberty and morality, domestic " 

u But hadn't I better tell you the Idea ? " 
said the reporter. 

"Well , you might do that perhaps," said 
the editor* 

Then the footman went off to the office 
of the Immovable — the leading paper of the 
Hangback party, and cried, 41 The King has 
got a new Idea ! w 

u Ha ! M said the editor. " Mr. Smith, 
will you kindly do me a column in support 
of His Majesty's new Idea ? " 

" Hum ! Well, you see," put in 
Mr. Smith, the eminent journalist 
11 How about the new contingent 
of readers you said you were 
anxious to net — the readers who 
are not altogether satisfied with the 
recent attitude of His Majesty ? JJ 

"Oh! ah! I quite forgot," 
said the editor* " Look here, then, 
just do me an enigmatical and oracular 
article that can be read either way." 

" Right," replied the eminent journalist. 
"By the way, I didn't tell you the Idea," 
suggested the footman* 

" Oh ! that doesn't matter ; 
but there, you can, if you like/' 
said the editor. 

After that the 
footman sold 
the news of the 
Idea to an or- 
dinary reporter, 
who dealt with 
the Rushfthead 
and thttj[^ 
and the reporter mshed 




fishing for, of 

into the office of the lVhirkr } the leading 
Rushahead paper, 

"King! New Idea!" 
said the editor of the 
WhirUr. "Here, 
do me five columns of 
amiable satire upon 
the King's Idea; keep 
up the tone of loyalty 
— tolerant loyalty — of 
course ; and try to 
keep hold of those 
readers the Immovable 

"Very good," said Brown. 

"Shall I tell you the Idea?" asked the 
reporter. * 

"Ah ! yes ; if you want to," replied the 

Then the reporter rushed off to the Shouitr, 
the leading revolutionary journal, 

"Here!— hi! 
K*Jm% J & -Cruncher ! » 

^*Tit**' / ^L shouted the 

JPL fW editor; "King's 

**^^T* \ ^P^ S ot a now Idea. 

M ■ W BT Do me a whole 

% \ \ ^L number full of 

^ 7 scathing satire, 

bitter recrimination, vague menace, and so 

on, about the King's Idea. Dwell on the 

selfishness and class-in vidiousness of the Idea 

— on the resultant iniury to the working 

classes and the poor ; show how it is another 

deliberate blow to the writhing son of toil — 

you know." 

"I know/' said Redwiag, the eminent 
Trafalgar Square journalist. 

"Wouldn't you like 

what the 
asked the 

tto hear 
^v Idea is ? " 
Z7f\\ reporter. 
r/7/J "No, I should 
7*7 NOT !" thundered 
^J the editor, " Don't 
Jj defile my ears with 
particulars I n 
The moment the public heard how ihr 
King had got a new Idea, they rushed to their 
newspapers to ascertain what 
judgment they ought to form 
upon it ; and, 
as the news- 
paper writers 
had carefully thought out 
what sort of judgment their 
public would like to form 
upon it, the leading articles 
exactly reflected the views 

which that public feebly and half-consciously 
held, but would have feared to express 
without support ; and everything was pre- 
judiced and satisfactory. 

Well, on the whole, the public verdict was 
decidedly in favour of the King's Idea, which 
enabled the newspapers gradually to work up 
a fervent enthusiasm in their columns ; until 
at length it had become the very finest Idea 
ever evolved. After a time it was suggested 
that a day should be fixed for public rejoic- 
ings in celebration of the King's Idea ; 
and the scheme grew until it was decided in 
the Lords and Commons that the King 
should proceed in state to the cathedral on 
the day of rejoicing, and be crowned as 
Emperor in honour of the Idea. There 
was only one little bit of dissent in the Lower 

f House; and that was when Mr 
Corderoy, M.R for the Ratten- 
well Division of Strikeston, 
moved, as an amendment* that 
Bill Firebrand, dismissed by 
his employer for blowing up 
his factory, should be allowed 
a civil service pension. 
So the important 
day came, and every- 
body took a holiday 
except the pickpockets 
and the police ; and 
the King was crowned 
Emperor in the cathe- 
dral, with a grand 
choral service ; and 
the laureate wrote a 

fine poem calling upon the 
universe to admire the Idea, 
and describing 
the King as the 
greatest and 
most virtuous 
King ever in- 
vented. It was 
a very fine poem, beginning \> — 

Notion that roars and rolls, lapping 
the stars with its hem ; 
liu ruling the bands of Space, dwarfing eternal Aye. 

It became tacitly admitted that the King 
was the very greatest King in the world ; and 
he was made an honorary fellow of the 
Society of Wiseacres and D.C.I- of the 

But one day it leaked out that the Idea 
was not the King's but the Prime Minister's. 
It would not have been known but for the 
Prime Minister having taken offence at the 
refusal of the Kifjg to appoint a Socialist 
agitator WCMJlMdmV'l^tlv'f Lord Chamber 


21 I 

lain. You see, it was this way — the Prime 
Minister was very anxious to get in his right- 
hand man for the eastern division of Grum- 
bury, N. Now, the Revolutionaries were 
very strong in the eastern division of Grum- 

bury, and, by win- 
ning the favour of 
»' the agitator, the 
jpl votes of the Revo- 
*n«ft lutionaries would be 
flft secured, So, when 
I l\ the King refused to 
-* J appoint the agitator, 
the Prime Minister, 
r out of nastiness, let out that the Idea had 

really been his, and it had been he who had 
suggested it to the King. 

There were great difficulties now ; for the 
honours which had been conferred on the 
| King because of his Idea could not be 

cancelled ; the title of Emperor could not be 
taken away again, nor the great poem 
unwritten. The latter step, especially, was 
not to be thought of; for a leading firm of 
publishers were just about to issue an edition 
de luxe of the poem with sumptuous illustra- 
tions, engraved on diamond, from the pencil 
of an eminent R.A, who had become a 
classic and forgotten how to draw. (His 
name, however, could still draw : so he left 
the matter to that.) 

Well, everybody, except a few newspapers, 
said nothing about the King's part in the 
affair ; but the warmest eulogies were passed 
on the Prime Minister by the papers of 
his political persuasion, 
and by the public in 
general. The Prime 
Minister wns now the 
most wonderful person in 
existence ; and a great 
* public testimonial was got 

up for him in the shape of a wreath cut 
out of a single ruby ; the colonies got up 

a millennial ex- 
hibition in his 
honour, at which 
the chief exhibits 
were his cast-off 
clothes, a lock of 
his hair, a bad 
sixpence he had 
passed, and other relics. He was invited 
everywhere at once ; and it became the 

L fashion for ladies to send 
him a slice of bread and 
butter to take a bite out 
of, and subsequently frame 
the slice with the piece 

bitten out, or 
wear it on State 
occasions as 
a necklace 
pendant. At 
leng t h 
the King 
felt him- 

self, with many wry faces, 
compelled to make the 

Prime Minister 
a K.C.B., a ICG,, 

and other typo- 
graphical combi- 
nations, together 
with an earl, and 
subsequently a 

So the Prime 

Minister retired 
luxuriously to the 
Upper House and 
sat in a nice arm- 
chair, with his 
feet on another, 
instead of on a 
hard bench. 

Then it sud- 
denly came out 
that the Idea was 
not the Prime 
Minister's either, 
but had been 
evolved by his 
Private Secretary. 
This was another 
shock to the 
nation. It was 
suggested by one 
low -class news- 
paper conspicuous for bad taste that the 
Prime Minister should resign the dukedom 
and the capital letters and the ruby wreath, 

inal from 



seeing that he had obtained them on false 
pretences ; but he did not seem to see his 
way to do these things : on the corftrary, 
he very incisively asked what would be 
the use of a man's becoming Prime 
Minister if it was only to resign things 
to which he had no right, Still, he did the 
handsome thing : he presented 
an autograph portrait of himself 
to the Secretary, together with 
a new £$ note, as a recogni- 
tion of any inconvenience he 
might have suffered in conse- 
quence of the mistake. 

Now, too, there was another little difficulty : 
the Private Secretary was, to a certain extent, 
an influential man, but not sufficiently in- 
fluential for an Idea of his to be so 
brilliant as one evolved by a King or a 
Prime Minister. Nevertheless, the Press 
and the public generously decided that the 
Idea was a good one, although it had its 
assailable points ; so the 
Private Secretary was con- 
siderably boomed in the 
dailies and weeklies, and 
interviewed {with portrait) 
in the magazines^ and 
he was a made man. 

Rut, after he had got made, it was acci- 
dentally divulged that the Idea had never 
been his at :ill 3 but had sprung from the 
intelligence of his brother, an obscure 
Government ClerL 

There it was again -the Private Secretary, 
having been made, could not be disintegrated ; 
so he continued to enjoy his good luck, 
with the exception of the ^5 note, which 
the Prime Minister privately requested him 
to return with interest at 10 per cent 

It was put about at first that the Clerk who 
had originated the Idea was a person of some 
position ; and so the Idea continued to 
enjoy a certain amount of eulogy and com- 
mendation ; but when it was subsequently 
divulged that the Clerk was merely 
a nobody, and only had a salary 
of five and twenty shillings a week 
on account of his having no lord 
for a relation, it was at once seen 
that the Idea, although ingenious, 
was really, on being looked into, 
hardly a practicable one. How- 
ever, the affair brought the Clerk 
into notice; so he went on the 
stage just as the excitement over 
the affair was at its height, and 
made quite a success, although he 
couldn't act a bit. 

And then it was proved be- 
yond a doubt that the Clerk 
had not found the Idea at all, 
but had got it from a Pauper 
whom he knew in the St. 
Weektee's union workhouse. So 
th^ Clerk was called upon in the 
Press to give up his success on 
the boards and go I jack to his 
twenty-five shilling clerkship; 
but he refused to do this, and 
wrote a letter to a newspaper, headed, 
" Need an actor be able to act ? " and, 
it being the off-season and the subject a 
likely one, the letter was answered next day 
by a member of the newspaper's staff 
temporarily disguised as" "A Call-Boy"- 
and all this gave the Clerk another lift. 

About die Pauperis Idea there was no 
difficulty whatever; every newspaper and 
every member of the public had perceived 
long ago, on the Idea being originally 
mooted, that there was really nothing at all 
in it ; and the Chuckkr had a very funny 
article, bursting with new and flowery turns 
of speech, by its special polyglot contributor 
who made you die o' laughing about the 
Peirastic and Percipient Pauper, 

So the Pauper was not allowed 

his evening out for a month ; and it became 
a question whether he ought not to be 
brought up before a magistrate and charged 
with something or other ; but the 
matter was magnanimously per- 
mitted to drop. 

By this time the public had had 
a little too much of it, as they 
were nearly reduced to beggary by 
the contributions they had given 
to one ideal-originator after an- 
other ; and they certainly would 
have lynched any new aspirant to 
the Idea, had one (sufficiently un- 
influential) turned up. 





going by a select company of patriotic per- 
sonages who were in a position to set the 
ball rolling ; and the Idea grew, and de- 
veloped, and developed, until it had attained 
considerable proportions and could be seen 
to be full of vast potentialities either for the 
welfare or the injury of the Empire, accord- 
ing to the way in which it might be worked 

Now, at the outset, owing to tremendous 
opposition from various quarters, the Idea 
worked out so badly that it threatened 
incalculable harm to the commerce and 
general happiness of the realm ; whereupon 
the public decided that it certainly must have 
originated with the Pauper ; and they went 
and dragged him from the workhouse, 
and were about to hang him to a lamp- 

peri ty of the realm. Thereupon the public 
decided that it must have been the Private 
Secretary's Idea, after all ; and were 
just setting out in a deputation to thank 
the Private Secretary, when fresh reports 
arrived showing that the Idea was a very 
great national boon ; and then the public 
felt that it must have originated with the 
Prime Minister^ in spite of all that had 
been said to the contrary. 

But in the course of a few months, 
everybody in the land became aware 
that the tide of national prosperity 
and happiness was indeed advancing 
in the most glorious way, and all ow- 
ing to the Great Idea ; and now they 
perceived as one man that 

fs own 


post, when news arrived that the Idea was 
doing less harm to the Empire than had 
been supposed. 

So they let the Pauper go ; for it became 
evident to them 
that it had been 
the Clerk's Idea; 
and just as they 
were deliberat- 
ing what to do 

with the Clerk, it was discovered 
that the Idea was really beginning 
to work out very well indeed, and 
was decidedly increasing the pros- 

Ait had been the King's own 

>ubt about the matter. So 
her day of rejoicing, and 

Idea, and no doubt about the matter, 

they made another day of rejoicing, 

presented the 

King with a 

diamond throne 

and a new crown 

with fl Ai" 

in large letters 

upon it. And 

that King was 

ever afteT known as the very greatest 
King that had ever reigned. 

But it was the Pauper's Idea after all 
J. F. Sullivan. 

by Google 

Original from 

Vol. v*— *8. 



Frv/m. f'hi>tt>/r. by 

These are two photo- 
graphs of a ** turnip," 
unearthed a little time 
ago by a Lancashire 
farmer. We are in- 
debted for Lhe photo- 
graphs to Mr. Alfred 
Whalky, 15, Solent 
Crescent, West PI amp- 


mi g< 

V p 




This is a photo, of a hock bottle that was 
washed ashore at Lyme Regis covered 
with barnacles, which look like a bunch 
of flowers. The photograph has been sent 
to us by Mr* F. W. Shephard, photographer, 
Lyme Regis. 


The drawing* taken from a photo., shows ihe curious result of a boiler explosion whith ctrcamsd ?3nre time a^o at Soosmezo, in 
Hungary. The explosion woke the greater Mrt of the window? in the neighbouring village, a^ the cylindrical portion of the 
boiler, not shown in drawing, as well as the chimney, were hurled some two huncj^d y^rds n. v r j lfnj, | V ERSlTY 





-trrrut *>/) 

by Google 

Original from 







4. PLIGHT 1 



. ., T . B Original from 




/"* 1 Original from 



"Bv Heaven," cried Ruy Lopez, "the Ddke shall finish his Game! 1 

(A Game oj Chen). 0rjgina | fmm 

Digitized by ^OOgie | ND | ANA UNIVERSITY 


From the French. 


ING PHILIP II. was playing 
at chess in tne Escurial Palace- 
His opponent was Ruy Lopez, 
a humble priest, but a chess 
player of great skill Being 
the King's particular favourite, 
the great player was permitted to kneel upon 
a brocaded cushion, whilst the courtiers 
grouped about the King were forced to 
remain standing in constrained and painful 

It was a magnificent morning. The air 
was perfumed with the orange groves, and the 
violet curtains of the splendid hall hardly 
softened the burning rays which streamed 
in through the windows. The blaze of living 
light seemed scarcely in harmony with the 
King's gloomy countenance. His brow was 
black as night, and from time to time he 
bent his eyes impatiently upon the door. 
The nobles stood in silence, darting mean- 
ing glances at each other. It was easily to 
be discerned that some event of great im- 
portance weighed upon the spirits of the 
assembly. No one paid any attention to the 
chess-board except Ruy Lopez^ who, as he 
moved the pieces, hesitated between the 
temptation of checkmating his opponent 
and the deference due to his King, The 

silence was unbroken except by the sound 
made by the players moving their pieces* 

Suddenly the door opened, and a man of 
rude and savage aspect advanced into the 
hall T and, presenting himself before the King, 
stood waiting his commands to speak. This 
man's appearance was anything but prepos- 
sessing, and on his entrance the nobles, as 
if animated with one thought, shrank back 
with contempt and loathing, as if some un- 
clean animal had entered into their midst. 
His massive, herculean figure was clad in a 
doublet of black leather, and his face, in 
which could be seen no trace of intelligence, 
expressed, on the contrary, nothing but vile- 
ness and villainy ; a great scar t running right 
across his face and losing itself in a bushy- 
beard, added still further to the natural 
brutality of his countenance. 

An electric thrill Van through the assembly. 
The new comer was Fernando Calavar, high 
executioner of Spain, 

"Is he dead?" asked the King, in an 
imperious tone- 

" No, sire," replied Calavar, bowing low. 

The King frowned. 

"Great Sovereign of Spain, 7 ' Calavar con- 
tinued, :: die [jnstmer-' l Fiafe claimed his privi- 
leges, and I cannot take proceedings againr 

VoL Y.-29. 



a man whose blood belongs to the noblest in 
Spain, without having a more imperative 
order from your Majesty/' and he bowed 

The nobles, who had listened with great 
attention to these words, broke into a mur- 
mur of approbation as the man finished 
speaking* The proud Castilian blood rushed 
like a stream of lava through their veins, and 
dyed their faces crimson. The manifes- 
tation became general. Young Alonza 
D'Ossuna openly asserted his opinion by 
putting on his plumed cap. His bold 
example was followed by the majority of 
the nobles, and their lofty nodding crests 
seemed to proclaim with defiance that their 
masters protested in favour of the privilege, 
which the hidalgos of Spain have always 
enjoyed, of covering their heads before their 

The King gave a furious start, and striking 
his fist violently upon the chess-board, 
scattered the chessmen in all directions, 

" He has been judged by our Royal Court 
of Justice/' he cried, li and condemned to 
death. What does the traitor demand ? " 

" Sire ! M replied the executioner, f( he asks 
permission to die upon the block, and also to 
pass the three last hours of his life with a 

" Ah, that is granted ! " replied Philip, in a 

tone of relief- lt Is not our confessor in the 
prison according to our orders ? r * 

* e Yes, sire ! " said Calavar, t( the holy man 
is there; but the Duke refuses to see St. 
Diaz de Silva, He says he cannot receive 
absolution from anyone below the dignity of 
a Bishop* Such is the privilege of a noble 
condemned to death for high treason," 

"Yes, these are our rights ! ,J boldly inter- 
rupted the fiery D'Gssuna ; " and we claim 
from the King our eousin^s privileges." 

This demand acted as a signal, 

"Our rights and the King's justice are 
inseparable," cried Don Diego de Tarraxas, 
Count of Valence, an old man of gigantic 
stature, clothed in armour, holding in his 
hands the baton of Great Constable of Spain, 
and leaning upon his long Toledo blade. 

" Our rights and our privileges ! " cried the 
nobles, repeating the words like an echo. 
Their audacity made the King start with fury 
from his ebony throne. 

H By the bones of Catnpeador ! " he cried. 
li By the soul of St. Jago ! I have sworn 
neither to eat nor sleep until the bleeding 
head of Don Gusman lies before me. As I 
have sworn, so shall it be + But Don Tarraxas 
has said well, £ The King's justice confirms 
his subjects' rights.' My Lord Constable, 
where does the nearest Bishop reside ? " 

11 Sire, I have more to do with camp than 


with the Church," the Constable replied, 
somewhat abruptly- "Your Majesty's 
chaplain, Don Silvas, is present : he can 
tell you better than L" 

Don Silvas began to speak in trepi- 

"Sire," .be said, humbly, "the Bishop 
of Segovifc'ia04ft a wlftffl of the King, but 
he wbWIMW-yWVaB^TlBied last week, 
and the parchment which names his 



successor is still upon the Council table, and 
is yet to be submitted to the Pope's seal." 

At these words a joyous smile hovered 
about D'Ossuna's lips. This joy was but 
natural, for the young man was of the blood 
of the Gusmans, and his cousin, the con- 
demned prisoner, was his dearest friend. 
The King perceived the smile, and his eye 
shot forth lightning. 

" We are the King ! " he said, gravely, with 
the calm which presages a storm ; " our Royal 
person must be no butt for raillery. This 
sceptre appears light, my lords, but he who 
ridicules it shall be crushed thereby as with a 
block of iron. I believe that our holy father 
the Pope is somewhat indebted to us, so that 
we do not fear his displeasure at the step 
which we are about to take. Since the King 
of Spain can make a Prince, he can also make a 
Bishop. Rise, then, Don Ruy Lopez. I create 
you Bishop of Segovia. Rise, I command 
you, and take your rank in the Church." 

The courtiers stood dumfounded. 

Don Ruy Lopez rose mechanically. His 
head was whirling, and he stammered as he 
strove to speak. 

" If your Majesty pleases " he began. 

" Silence, my Lord Bishop ! " replied the 
King. " Obey your Sovereign. The formal- 
ities of your installation shall be performed 
another day ; our subjects will not fail to 
acknowledge our wishes in this affair. Bishop 
of Segovia, go with Calavar to the condemned 
man's cell. Give absolution to his soul, and 
in three hours leave his body to the 
executioner's axe. As for you, Calavar, I 
will await you here; you will bring us the 
traitor's head. Let justice be accomplished." 

Then Philip turned to Ruy Lopez. 

" I give you my signet ring," he said, " to 
show the Duke as a token of the truth of 
your story." 

The executioner left the chamber, followed 
by Ruy Lopez. 

"Well, gentlemen," said the King, turning 
to the others, u do you still doubt the King's 
justice ? " 

But the nobles answered not a word. 

The King, having taken his seat, made a 
sign to one of his favourites to place himself 
before the chess-board, and Don Ramirez, 
Count of Biscay, accordingly knelt down 
upon the velvet cushion. 

" With a game of chess, gentlemen," said 
the King, smiling, "and your company, I 
cannot fail to make the time pass agreeably. 
Let no one leave the chamber until Calavar's 
return. We cannot spare a single one of 

With these ironical words, Philip com- 
menced a game with Don Ramirez, whilst 
the nobles, almost dropping with fatigue, 
resumed the positions about their august 
master which they had occupied at the 
beginning of this story. 


Calavar, leading the way, conducted the 
new Bishop to the condemned man's cell. 
Ruy Lopez walked like one in a dream. 
Was he awake, or not? He hardly knew. 
At the bottom of his heart he cursed the 
King and his Ccurt. He understood per- 
fectly that he had become Bishop of Segovia, 
but he felt deeply at what a price he had 
bought his dignity. What had Don Gusman 
done that he should be thus sacrificed? 
Don Gusman, the best chess player in Spain ! 
He thought of all this as he proceeded over 
the marble flags which led to the State 
prison, and as he thought he prayed that the 
ground would open and swallow him up. 

Don Gusman was pacing impatiently up 
and down his narrow cell with a hurried step 
that betrayed the feverish anxiety of his 
mind. The cell was furnished with a massive 
table and two heavy wooden stools, the floor 
being covered with coarse, thick mats. Shut 
out from all the noises of the outer world, 
here silence reigned supreme. A crucifix, 
roughly carved, was fixed to the wall in the 
niche of a high window, which was carefully 
barred with iron. Except for this image of 
resignation and mercy, the walls were bare. 
Well might this dungeon serve as ante- 
chamber to the tomb. 

As Ruy Lopez entered the cell a sudden 
burst of sunshine flooded the walls as if in 
bitter mockery of him who was soon to see 
it no more. 

The Duke saluted the new Bishop with 
great courtesy. They regarded each other, 
and exchanged in that look a thousand words 
which they alone could understand. Ruy 
Lopez felt the painfulness of his position 
deeply, and the Duke understood his em- 
barrassment Their thoughts were both the 
same, that in the condemnation of one of the 
principal favourites of the King an innocent 
life was threatened ! The proofs of the crime 
imputed to the Duke were grave ; the most 
important being a despatch written in Don 
Gusman's hand to the French Court, in 
which he unfolded a scheme for assassinating 
Philip II. This had sufficed to condemn 

1 DoW^U^UW^^II^ his innocence, had 
kept a rigorous silence when brought before 



his judges, and the accusation not being 
denied* sentence of death was passed upon 
him. Don Gusman since his incarceration 
had not altered. He 
had braved the storm, 
and looked upon death 


with an unmoved countenance. His last 
hours had no terrors for him. If his 
forehead was overshadowed, if his steps 
were agitated and his breathing hurried, 
it was because there rose before his eye 
the image of his betrothed, Dona Estella, 
who, ignorant of her lover's fate, was waiting 
for him in her battlemented castle on the 
banks of the Guadalquiver. If he felt weak 
at this fatal moment, and if a pang shot 
through his heart, it was because his thoughts 
were of her who was to him the dearest thing 
in all the world. 

Ruy Lopez had not entered alone, Calavar 
was at his side ; and it was he who 
announced to the Duke the King's decision 
and reply. Ruy Lopez confirmed the 
executioner's words, and the Duke, falling on 
his knees before the new Bishop, asked his 
blessing, * then turning to Cala%'ar with a 
gesture of authority, he dismissed him, 
saving : — 

"In three hours I shall be at your 

Calavar obeyed him and went out, and 
the Duke and Bishop were left alone. 

Ruy Lopez was trembling with nervous- 
ness, whilst Don Gusman's face wore a calm 
and serene expression. He took the Bishop's 
hand, and wrung it warmly. There was a 
pause. The Duke was the first to 
break the silence. 

We have met before in happier 
circumstances," he said, smiling. 
" It is true," stammered Ruy 
Lopez, who, pale and agitated, 
resembled rather the penitent 
than the confessor 

" Much happier," repeated 
the Duke, absently. " Do you 
remember, when you played 
your celebrated game of chess 
with Paoli Boy, the Sicilian, 
in the presence of the King 
and Court, that it was upon 
my right arm that the King 
leant ? " Then after a pause 
he continued \ M Do you re- 
member also, father, those 
words of Cervantes, 'Life is a 
game of chess ? ' I have for- 
gotten the exact place in which 
the passage occurs, but its mean- 
ing is, that upon earth men play 
different roles. There are, as 
in chess, kings, knights, soldiers, 
bishops, according to their birth, 
fate and fortune \ and when the 
game is over death lays them 
all as equals in the tomb, even as we gather 
together the chessmen into a box/* 

u Yes, I remember those words of Don 
Quixote," replied Don Lopez, astonished at 
this singular conversation, tf and I remember 
also Sancho's reply : * That however good the 
comparison was, it was not so new that he 
had not heard it before.' n 

** I was your favourite pupil, even your 
rival," said the Duke, without appearing to 
hear Don Lopez, 

"It is true," cried the Bishop, " You are 
a great master of the game, and I have been 
often proud of having such a pupil. But 
now, on your knees, my son." 

They knelt down together, and there 
before the crucifix Don Gusman made con- 
fession to Ruy Lopez, who as he listened 
could hardlv restrain his tears. 

When the Duke had finished, two hours 
after— for the confession under the Church 
seal was long and touching — the Bishop 




blessed the prisoner, and gave him absolu- 
tion. The face of Don Gusman, as he rose, 
was calm and resigned. 

But there remained still an hour to wait. 

"This delay is torture," cried the Duke, 
"Why do they not cut off the prisoners at 
once, instead of stretching their souls upon 
such a rack of agony ? An eternity of suffer- 
ing ts in each of these minutes," And the 
prisoner began to walk impatiently to and 
fro, with his eyes constantly bent upon the 
door. The Duke's firmness was shaken by 
the thought of that weary hour of waiting, 
Ruy Lopez had fulfilled his duty. The 
prisoner's soul was purified, and now the 
priest could become the friend. 

As Don Lopez heard Don Gusman utter 
this exclamation, and saw his face grow 
white, he understood what agony he was 
undergoing, and felt at once that something 
must be done to divert his thoughts. But in 
vain he racked his brain for an idea. He 
could think of nothing. What could he 
propose to a man about to die ? For 
such as he, the flower has no longer 
perfume, woman has no longer beauty. 

Then suddenly a thought flashed across 
his brain. 

" How would a game of chess— — " 
he began, timidly. 

"An excellent idea ! v cried Don Gus- 
man, recalled to himself by this singular 
proposal. " A farewell game of chess." 
" You consent ? iy 

** Most readily ; but where are the 
chessmen, my friend ?" 

" Am I not always provided with the 
instruments of war?" said Ruy Lopez, 
smiling. Then he pulled forward the 
two stools and set out upon the table a 
microscopic set of chessmen, *' Our 
Lady pardon me I " he continued. " I 
often pass my spare time in the con- 
fessional in working out some problem." 
The chessmen being set out, the 
players took their seats, and were soon 
absorbed in the excitement of the game* 
This strange contest, between a priest 
and a condemned prisoner, made a 
picture worthy of the brush of Rem- 
brandt or Salvator Rosa. The light 
which streamed from the arched windows 
fell upon the pale, noble features of Don 
Gusman, and upon the venerable head 
of Ruy Lopez, 

The emotions of the two players 
were very different* Ruy Lopez played 
with a preoccupation which was not 
usual to him, and which rendered him 
much inferior to his ordinary strength* Don 
Gusman, on the contrary, stimulated by ex- 
citement, played with more than his ordinary 
skill. At this moment his noble Castilian 
blood did not fail him, for never had the 
Duke given better proof of the clearness of 
his mind* Such a flash of intellect must be 
compared to the last flickers of the failing 
lamp, or to the last song of the dying swan* 

Don Gusman suddenly attacked his adver- 
sary with an impetuosity which nearly gained 
him a certain victory ; but Ruy Lopez, 
recalled to himself by this vigorous effort, 
defended himself bravely. The game be- 
came more and more complicated* The 
Bishop strove to gain a mate which he saw, 
or believed he saw* at hand, whilst Don 
Gusman played with the eagerness of certain 
victory* Everything was forgotten, and time 
passed unnoticed. The chess-board was their 
universe, and a life of anxiety was in each 

The minutes, the quarters, the half-hours 
flew by, and the fata'J hour arrived at last 

A distrifiVwuntt "struck on their ears; it 
grew nearer, it increased, and the door swing- 




ing open gave admittance to Calavar and his 
assistants, who advanced into the cell with 
torches in their hands. They were armed 
with swords, and two of them bore the block, 
covered with a black cloth, on which lay an 

The torches were placed in the receptacle 
prepared for them, whilst one of the men 
scattered cedar sawdust on the floor. Alt 
this was the work of a moment, white the 
executioner stood waiting for the prisoner. 

As Calavar entered, Ruy Lopez started to 
his feet, in a tremor of alarm, but the Duke 
did not move. His eyes were fixed upon 
the chess-board. It was his turn to play* 
Calavar, seeing his abstracted gaze, advanced 
to the Duke's side and placed his hand upon 
his shoulder. 

" Come," he said. 

The prisoner shuddered as if he had 
trodden upon a serpent. 

'* I must finish this game," he said, 

* £ It is impossible/ 5 Calavar replied* 

" But, fellow, the game is mine ! I can 
force mate in a few moves. Let me play it 

" I cannot. It is impossible," repeated 
the executioner. 

" Are the three hours gone already ? " 

"The last stroke has just struck* We 
must obey the King." 

The assistants, who had until then stood 
leaning on their swords > came forward at 
these words. 

The Duke was sitting against the wall, 

under the high window, 

with the table between 

him and Calavar. He 

started to his feet. 

" I shall not 

move until the 

game is over. In 

half an hour my 

head shall be at 

your disposal" 

"My lord," re* 
plied Calavar, "I 
respect you 
deeply, but I 
cannot grant you 
this request. I 
answer for your 
life with mine*" 

Don Gusman 

made a gesture 

of impatience, 

and pulling off 

his diamond 

rings, he threw them at the executioner's feet, 

11 1 mean to finish the game," he said t 


The jewels sparkled as they rolled and 
.settled in the dust. 

* ( My orders are imperative," cried Calavar, 
" and you must pardon us, noble Duke, if we 
have to use force ; but the King's orders and 
the law of Spain must be carried out Obey, 
then, and do not waste your last moments in 
a useless struggle. Speak to the Duke, my 
lord Bishop, Tell him to submit to his fate." 
Ruy Lopez's reply was as prompt as it was 
decisive. He seized the axe which lay upon 
the block and swung it with both hands 
above his head. 

" By Heaven ! " he cried, " the Duke shall 
finish his game ! " 

Scared by the gesture which accompanied 
these words, Calavar drew back in such a 
fright that he stumbled and fell back on his 
companions. The swords flashed from their 
scabbards, and the band prepared for attack. 
But Ruy Lopez, who appeared to have put 
forth the strength of a Hercules, cast upon 
the ground his heavy wooden stool. 

" The first of you who passes this limit 
dies ! " he cried in a loud voice* " Courage, 
Duke ! — to the attack 1 There are only four 
of these miscreants* The last desire of your 
Grace shall be gratified, were I to lose my 
life in the attempt And you, wretched man, 
beware how you lay a finger upon a Bishop 
of the Chura£riqij>owri with vour swords and 
respect tHffl |)^V NtiHHffV ! " And Ruy 
Lopez continued to hurl forth, in a jargon of 



Spanish and Latin, one of those formulas of 
excommunication and malediction which at 
that period acted so strongly upon the masses 
of the people. 

The effect was prompt. The men stood 
rooted to the spot with terror, whilst Calavar, 
thinking that to kill a Bishop without a sealed 
crder from the King was to run the risk of 
putting his life in jeopardy in this world and 
his soul in the next, avowed himself 
vanquished. He knew not what to do next. 
'I o rush with the news to the King, who was 
waiting impatiently for Don Gusmaivs head, 
was only to expose himself. To attack the 
prisoner and the priest would be too hazard- 
ous, for Ruy Lopez was a man of no mean 
strength. The position of affairs was critical. 
At last he decided to take the easiest way 
out of the difficulty — to wait. 

" Will you promise me faithfully to give 
yourself up in half an hour ? " he demanded 
of Don Gusman. 

44 I promise," replied the Duke. 

44 Play on, then," said the executioner. 

The truce being thus concluded, the players 
returned to their seats and their game, whilst 
Calavar and his companions, forming them- 
selves into a circle, stationed themselves 
round the two players. Calavar, who was 
himself a chess player, looked on with inte- 
rest, and could not prevent himself from 
involuntarily considering each move the 
players made. 

Don Gusman looked up for an instant 
upon the circle of faces which surrounded 
him, but his sang froid did not abandon 

i4 Never have I played in the presence of 
huch a noble company ! " he cried. u Bear 
witness, rascals, that at least once in my life 
I have beaten Don Lopez." Then he re- 
turned to the game with a smile upon his lips. 
The Bishop gripped the handle of the axe 
which he still held in his hand. 

44 If I were only sure of escaping from 
this tigers' den," he thought, " I would break 
every head of the four of them." 


Ik three hours had dragged in the prisoner's 
cell, they had not passed more quickly in the 
Royal chamber of King Philip. 

The King had finished his game with Don 
Ramirez de Biscay, and the nobles, still 
compelled from etiquette to remain standing, 
appeared almost ready to drop with fatigue, 
rendered still more painful from the weight 
of their armour. 

Don Tarraxas stood motionless, with closed 

eyes like one of those iron figures which 
ornamented the castles of the savage Goths. 
Young D'Ossuna, with drooping head, stood 
propped against a marble pillar, whilst King 
Philip strode impatiently about the apart- 
ment, only stopping at intervals to listen to 
some imaginary noise. According to the 
superstitious custom of the age, the King 
knelt for a few moments at the foot of a 
figure of the Virgin placed upon a porphyry 
pedestal to pray the Madonna to pardon him 
the deed of blood which was about to take 
place. Silence reigned, for no one, whatever 
his rank might be, dared to speak before his 
Sovereign without his commands. 

As the King's eyes saw the last grain of 
sand fall in the hour-glass * he uttered an 
exclamation of joy. 

" The traitor dies ! " he cried. 

An almost inaudible murmur ran through 
the assembly. 

44 The hour is passed, Count of Biscay," 
said Philip, turning to Don Ramirez, 44 and 
with it your enemy." 

44 My enemy, sire ? " asked Ramirez, affect- 
ing surprise. 

" Why do you repeat my words, Count ? " , 
replied the King. 44 Were you not a rival to 
Don Gusman in the affections of Dona 
Estella, and can rivals be friends? Dona 
Estella shall be yours. This young girl will 
bring you her beauty and her fortune. I 
have not spoken of this to our Council, but 
my Royal word is pledged. If the ingratitude 
of Sovereigns is ever spoken of before you, 
Count, you will be able to reply that we d ; d 
not forget the true friend of the King 
and of Spain who discovered the plot and 
the correspondence of Don Gusman with 

Don Ramirez de Biscay seemed to listen 
to the King with uneasiness. He kept his 
eyes fixed upon the ground, as if he disliked 
to be thus praised in public. Then he made 
an effort to reply. 

44 Sire ! " he said, " it was with great re- 
pugnance that I fulfilled such a painful 
duty "---he hesitated, and then w f as silent. 

Tarraxas gave a slight start, whilst 
D'Ossuna struck sharply the pommel of his 
sword with his iron glove. 

44 Before Dona Estella shall belong to this 
man," thought D'Ossuna, "I will have 
vengeance or perish in the attempt To- 
morrow shall be the day of my revenge." 

The King continued : — 

44 Your zeal, Don Ramirez, and your devo- 
tion must be rewarded. The saviour of our 
throne, and perhaps of our dvnasty, merits a 

Yul. v. -30. 



particular gift. r I his morning I ordered you 
to make out some ieti res paten tes, which 
confer upon you the rank of Duke and 
Governor of Valence. Are these ready to 
be signed ? w 

Don Ramirez grew pale with pleasure. He 
shook like an aspen and his eyes grew dim, 
But the King made an impatient movement, 
and tht: Count, drawing a roll of parchment 
hastily from his breast, presented it on his 
knees to the King, 

4t My first public duty to-day shall be to 
sign these papers/ 1 said the King. "The 
executioner has already punished treason; it 
is now time for the King to recompense 
fidelity/ 5 

The King unrolled the parchment and 
began to read. As he read T his face became 
convulsed with fury, and his eyes shot forth 
flames of wrath. 

11 Bv nay father's soul ! M he shouted ; 
" what do I behold ? " 


The game of chess 
was finished. Don 
Gusman had beaten 
Ruy Lopez, and his 
triumph was com- 
plete. He rose to 
his feet 

" I am now, as 
ever, ready to obey 
the wishes of my 
King," he said to 

The executioner 
understood him, 
and began to pre- 
pare the block. 
Whilst this was 
being done Don 
G u s ma n ad va n ced 
towards the crucifix, 
and said in a 
firm voice: — 

"Oh, Hea- 
ve n I may 
this unjust ^ 
and rash act 
which is 
about to take 
place fall 
upon the 
head of him 
who is the 
instigator of 

this treaelv ^0j 

ery; but let " j 

not mv blood recoil upon the head of my 

Ruy Lopez, crouching in a corner of the 
cell, and burying his face in his mantle, 
began to recite the prayers for the dying. 

Calavar approached Don Gusman, and 
putting his hand upon the Duke's shoulder 
began to loosen his i^ff. Don Gusman 
shrank back from the contact 

u Nothing that belongs to you, except this 
axe, shall touch a Gusman, v he said, tikin^ 
off his ruff himself and placing his head upon 
the block, "Strike!" he added, tl I am 

rhe executioner raised the axe — the King's 
justice w T as at last to be satisfied, when shouts, 
rapid footsteps and confused voices arrested 
I he sv.\i-p of tl u • '. xi.nitiuni r's arm, 

The door gave way under the united 
e (Torts of a troop of armed men, and 
D Ussuna, rushing into the cell, threw himself 
between the executioner and his victim. He 

was just in time. 

"He lives! "cried 

M He is saved ! " 
repeated D'Qssuna. 
"My beloved 
cousinj I never 
hoped to have seen 
you alive again. 
God in His mercy 
has not let the inno- 
cent perish for the 
guilty. God be 
praised 1 n 

"God be praised!" 
echoed all the spec- 
tators, and louder 
than the rest rang 
out the voice of 
Ruy Lopez. 

" You have arrived in time, 
my friend/' said Don Gus- 
man to his cousin ; " but 
now I shall have no longer 
strength to die," and he sank 
back fainting on the block, 
The shock had been too 
much for him, 

Ruy Lopez seized the 
Duke in his arms, and, 
followed by all the nobles, 
bore him along the passages 
in the King's apartment, 
When Don Gusman opened 

( Vi-irAT DO I DEI I OLD?" 

hisreyes he found himself in 
^"t'tjia^'iliSongst which stood 


midst of 

a circle of his 



the King, looking down upon him with an 
expression of joy, 

Don Gasman could hardly believe his 
senses- From the axe and the block he had 
t passed to the King's apartment He did 

not understand why this change had taken 
place. He did not know that Don Ramirez, 
in giving his letirts-pattnfes to the King to 
sign, had , in his agitation, given him instead 
a paper containing a plot in which ho 
schemed to get rid for ever of Don Gasman, 
a detested rival, and one of the firmest sup- 
porters of the throne. He was ignorant of 
all that had passed, and did not know how 
he had escaped from the clutches oF tho 
executioner. It was some time before every- 
thing could be made clear to him. 

Three days afterwards, at the same hour as 
GusmatVs miraculous delivery, Calavar be- 
headed Don Ramirez, Count of Biscay, 
traitor and false witness. Don Gusman was 
overwhelmed with congratulations on all sides. 
King Philip grasped him cordially by his 

"Gusman," he said, " I have been very 
unjust. I can never forgive my folly/' 

*' Sire," replied the Duke, " let us speak of 

it no more. Such words spoken by my King 
are worth a thousand lives/' 

Hut the King continued. 

U I desire," lie said, "that henceforth, in 
commemoration of your almost miraculous 
deliverance, you carry upon your escutcheon 
a silver axe emblazoned on an azure chess- 
board. This month we shall celebrate your 
marriage with Dona Estella. The marriage 
shall take place in our Escurial Palace/' 

Then he added, turning to Ruy Lupez :— 

11 1 believe that the Church will possess a 
good servant in its new Bishop. You shall 
be consecrated Lord Prelate, with a scarlet 
robe, enriched with diamonds ; that will be 
the recompense of your game of chess with 
Don Gusman/' 

"Sire," replied Don Ixjpez, ''never before 
this day have I been satisfied to be check- 
ma ted/ ' 

The King smiled, and the courtiers followed 
his example* 

" Now, my lords/' continued Philip, u we 
invite you all to our Royal banquet. Let Don 
Gusman's seat be placed upon our right, and 
the Bishop of Segovia's on our left. Give 
me your arm, Don Gusman/' 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


P one had waited for a few 
months, *'Thc Kertdals" 

would have been yetting 
settled in their new home in 
Portland Place. But, then, 
the happiest associations are 
always centred around the old, and the 
pleasantest — and frequently the dearest — 
recollections are gathered about the familiar. 
That is why I went to them once more to their 
home of many years at 145, Harley Street. 

It would be difficult to realize a woman of 
more striking characteristics than she who 
ivas for so many years known as f{ Madge " 
Robertson, and notwithstanding a very im- 
portant visit one morning in August 
twenty-three years ago to St. Saviour's, 
Plymouth Grove, Manchester, when she 
became the wife of Mr* William Hunter 
Grimston, there are many who still know 
and speak of her by her happily-remembered 
maiden name. From that day husband and 
wife have never played apart — they have 
remained sweethearts on the stage and lovers 
111 their own home. At night -the foot- 
lights; by day 
- - home and 
children. Mrs* 
Kendal assured 
me that neither 
her eldest 
daughter, Mar- 
garet^ nor Ethel, 
nor Dorothy — 
the youngest — 
nor M Dorrie," 
who is now at 
Cambridge, nor 
Harold, a 
boy, would ever 
go on the stage. 
Home, hus- 
band, and child- 
ren — -home, 
wife, and child- 
ren, are the 
embodiment of 
tiie life led by 
the Kendals. 

Together with Mr. Kendal we sat down 
in the drawing-room, and were joined for a 
moment by Miss Grimston, a quiet, un- 
affected young girl, who looked as though she 
could never rid herself of a smile, either in 
her eyes or about her mouth— a young maiden 
who suggested " sunshine," She was carrying 
Victoria, a pet dog. The mother's whole 
thoughts seemed to go out to her daughter 

" Our Jubilee dog/' she cried, b( I bought 
her on Jubilee Day, and, curiously enough, 
Mr. Kendal bought one too, neither of us 
telling the other we were going to make such 
canine purchases," 

Then, when Miss Grimston had left the 
room, her mother turned to me quietly, and 
said : — 

11 The image of my brother Tom. The 
same hair, the same expression of eyes, the 
same kind and loving ways, I think he lives 
in my girl. Come with me and you shall 
see his portrait/' 

It hung in Miss Grim stem's boudoir — an 
apartment the walls of which were decorated 
with pictures of the Comedie- Fran raise 

Mil ,7 j : 




DTOna university 

J ffff iuf r d' Fry. 



Frrrm a P5«to, by] 


[hRinU t( Frit, 

Company, the original designs for the 
dresses in £ *A Wife's Secret yi ; while over the 
niantd-board are Mr. ami Mrs. Kemhl in 
"This Ironmaster," and many family portraits 
are about. 

"It is so amusing to hear people talk and 
write about my eldest brother Tom and me 
playing together as children," she said, 
14 My mother was married when she was 
eighteen, and my brothel was horn when she 
was nineteen ; 1 was born when she was forty- 
eight, and was her twenty -second child ! So 
my brother was a grown man with a 
moustache when I knew hint, I was 
brought up with his two children — little 
Tom and Maude, my own nephew and 

What a delightful story it was ! Little 
Madge Robertson used to dress up as a 
policeman and take Maude into custody 
before Tom, the younger, as the judge, And 
this was the trial r— 

" What is the prisoner charged with, 
constable ? " asked the judge. 

H Murder, my lord," replied the represen- 
tative of law and order, 

** Prisoner, are you guilty ? M 

" Yes, my lord/" answered the poor 

" Prisoner, have you anything to say why 
sentence should not be passed upon you 
according to law ? '* 

** Yes, my lord, fm the daughter of the 
author of "CasteS" 

The prisoner always got oft* and dear old 

William Robertson 
would watch this 
little scene and 
roar with laughter. 
"Yes," Mrs. 
Kendal said 
quietly, as we again 
looked at "Tom's" 
pic ure, " my bro 
ther was kindness 
itself, even from his 
infancy. I remem- 
ber hearing how, 
when he was a very 
small boy and living 
with his aunt, he 
went out one sum- 
mer's day with a 
new velvet jacket 
on. He caught 
sight of a poor 
little beggar child 
his own size, who 
was in tatters, and, 
beckoning him across, at once divested 
himself of his new coat, put it on the 
wondering youngster, and ran away home 
as fast as he could. His aunt questioned 
him, and upon finding out the true circum- 
stances of the case, and not wishing to 
damp the kind spirit in the little fellow*s 
heart, said: — 

" * Well, we'll go and try to find the boy 
you gave it to, and buy your jacket back. T 

4i Fortunately the search was successful, 
and the coat was bought back fur no less a 
sum than half-a -sovereign: 

M And in later years it was just the same 
with Tom. He could never pass by a 
common cookshop, in front of the windows of 
which was often a crowd of men, women, 
and children, looking on with longing eyes, 
without getting them inside and giving them 
a fill tu their hearts' content When out 
driving it was no different. He would slop 
the horse, and have all the watching hungry 
ones inside, and the next moment they would 
be revelling in the satisfying properties ol 
thick slices of plum-pudding and roast beef. ? 
The house throughout is most artist i<\ 
Mr. Kendal is a painter of great merit, and 
he " knows " a picture as soon as he sees it. 
Pictures are his hobby ; hence there is not a 
room in the house — even to the kitchen — 
which does not find a place for some canvas, 
etching, or engraving. The entrance-hall is 

at once striking. , with its quaint thirteenth 

A_?riGJrra troiTi i -** 

ceuturv iurniture. , brciiizes t and V enetian 

ware. 1'M-jrere^ -Arel'SBniyl line engravings c) 



Pram it Phutu. bvl 

■j its HALL. 

MUh B run ton — who became Countess of 
Craven — Kemble, (jarrick, Phelps, and Mrs, 
Siddons. A picture of Mrs. Kendal in "This 
Falcon w was done at the express wish of, and 
paid for by, the late Poet laureate, Tenny- 
son said it reminded him of a woman he 
liked and admired. In the shadow is a fine 
bust of Macready, given by the great actor to 
the father of Mrs, Kendal ; resting against 
the fireplace on either side are the two lances 
used in "The Queens Shilling^ 1 and close 
by are t w o 
huge masks re* 
presenting a 
couple of very 
hirsute indivi- 
duals. They came 
from California, 
and represent 
14 The King of 
tiit.- 1 >evils " and 
"The King of 
the Winds." 

The entrance 
to the dining- 
room is typical 
of alt the other 
door decoration 
in the house — a 
carving of cream 
enamel of beauti- 
ful design and 
work ma n ship. 
The walls of this 
apartment are 

terra -co tta, with a 
finely carved oak- 
panelling It is a 
little treasure room 
of canvases, the 
gem of which is 
probably C. Van 
Hannens t£ Mask 
Shop in Venice" — 
a painter of a 
school which Luke 
Kildes, R t A., has 
done so much to 
popularize. Mac- 
beth is rt presented 
by a couple of 
delightful efforts, 
and there are 
samples of the skill 
of Eugene Du Bias, 
Croft?, John Reid, 
Andriotti, Sadler, 
I)e Haas, Rivers ; 
a grand landscape 
by Webb — nearly all of which are Academy 
works. The decorative articles are as 
artistic as in some cases they are peculiar. 
Running about above the oaken fireplace, 
amongst choice bronzes and blue ware, and 
a black boy who is trudging along with a very 
useful clock on his back, are many quaint 
animals of polished brass — even mice are 
not missing, with wonderfully long tails — 
that sparkle and glisten in the fire-light. 
Ascending the staircase you find etchings 

I EH mtt rr tYtf. 

Jtonn a Ftete, M 

rrMNA umv c fc i fr 


r KHiatt tt Fri } 



after Alma Tadema, Briton Riviere, and 
others ; the walls are covered with them. 

Here are a series of delightful pictures 
showing Mr. and Mrs, Kendal in Gilbert's 
•'Sweethearts," and I am reminded that the 
gifted actor and actress were the first to 
appear before the Queen after a period of fi ye- 
an d- twenty yearn , during which Her Majesty 
had never seen a play, the performance that 
night consisting of " Sweethearts" and They re 
Smith's u Uncle's Will," And as one takes 
note of many rare works — the bedroom 
is almost entirely given up to Dora's mar- 
vellous creations, though near the window is 
a splendid specimen of the photographer's 
art : a head of Miss Mary Anderson — 
one cannot fail to observe the family 
spirit everywhere-— sometimes portraits of 
children, sometimes small and dainty 
pencil studies made of them by their 

two-roomed apartment, the prevailing tone of 
blue, cream, and gold harmonizing to per- 
fection. It is positively one huge collection 
of curios* 

The screen at the far end is rather 
shuddery, not to say creepy, to those of 
nervous temperament It is decorated with 
tomahawks of fearful and wonderful shapes 
and sizes, and other Indian implements of 

"These came from California/' Mrs, 
Kendal explained, li No sooner- are you out 
of the train than the Indians tomahawk you ! 
Look at this bow and arrow." 

The pots of palms and ferns all hold 
American flags, These colours —the stars and 
stripes -once surmounted baskets of flowers 
and floral emblems — five, six, and even 
seven feet high — handed to Mrs. Kendal 
during her recent tour in the States; and 

Fnm tit Pittnrt by] 


Mr. KwmimL 

father. Occasionally theatrical sketches by 
Mr. Kendal appear, Here are some of the 
principal members of the old St. James's 
Company, who used to give Mr. Kendal 
sittings between the acts — here a capita! bit 
of artistic work depicting a scene from " The 
Squire/' made from stray memorandums and 
with the aid of a looking-glass for securing 
the actor-artist's face. 

Leaving Mr, Kendal 
Kendal and I returned to 

for a time. Mrs, 
the drawing-room. 

It overlooks Harley Street and is a handsome 

amongst the sweetly -perfumed blossoms dia- 
monds, pearls, and other precious gems have 
glistened in the shape of ornaments, A table 
near the window tells you of the generosity of 
the Americans, It is crowded with silver orna- 
ments and mementos. You may handle 
the diminutive silver candlesticks to light 
*'The Kendals " away —silver jugs, souvenir 
spoons, frying-pans, coffee-pots — all in minia- 
ture. This silver dollar is only one of a 
hundred^" ,ffou M| t«Kh T a spring, when, lo 
and BffliM*W^Wiit of the donor 



appears. AIL American women have dainty 
feet These little ebony and silver lasts 
for your boots remind you of this. On this 
table is a letter from the T> rincess of 
Wales, thanking Mrs. Kendal for "the 
lovely silver wedding bells and flowers 
which you so kindly sent me on the 
tenth," You may examine George IV/s 
cigar-case — a silver tube in which the King 
was wont to Parry a single cigar. It is 

I'ittiu it PtrtttK fnj[ 

impossible to number all the treasured odds 
and ends, hut still more difficult to total 
up the miniature articles set out in a pair 
erf cabinets. 

Mrs. Kendal has a hohbv it lies in the 

collecting of the tiniest of tiny things. If her 
intimate friends come across any curiosity par- 
ticularly choice and small, it is at once snapped 
up and disf matched to Harley Street. I had 
some little leaden mice in my hand the size of 
half-a-dozen pins' heads- Handkerchiefs an 
inch square, babies 1 woollen shoes, pinafores, 
shirts, all of the tiniest, but perfectly made, 
with buttons and button-holes complete, and 
even buns with currants no bigger than a pin's 
point Sheep, dogs, cats, monkeys, 
pigs, giraffes — in short, convert the 
entire Zoo into miniature china 
knick knacks, and you have a con- 
siderable portion of Mrs. Kendal's 
collection realized. One must needs 
stand for a moment at Napoleons 
writing-table, n^ur which rests a 
characteristic clay by Van Beers. 
The pictures here are many. 
Mi 11a is' work is well represented by 
several etchings, and a remarkably 
clever thing by Ermlie, entitled 
i4 Shakespeare and Bacon," suggests 
the two extremes of taste to a nicety* 
Whilst a young enthusiast is de- 
claiming Shakespeare, one of his 
listeners — doubtless, equally enthu- 
siastic, but with an eye for victuals — is 
interrupting a soliloquy with the remark : 
"Now! who says bacon? 11 Every portrait 
has a history Prince and Princess Henry 
of Batten berg in their wedding gar- 

nitttt *t h'nf- 

[A. E Emtlu, 




ments, the late Duke of Albany, Professor 
Huxley, Mrs. Beecher Stowe, Mr, and Mrs. 
Pinero, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, and many 
others. Three suggestive pictures, however, 
cannot be passed by. This dear little fellow 
is the son of Mr. R. J. Farjeon, Mr. Farjeon 
married "Rip Van Winkle" Jefferson's 
daughter, and the youngster is pictured 
dressed in the tattered 
garments of merry, rollick- 
ing Rip. You know how 
Rip always drinks your 
health? He holds the 
glass of hollands high up 
and cries, u Here's your 
health and your family's 
good health, and may 
they all live long and 
prosper ! " but Mr, Far- 
jeon 's little boy cries out, 
" Here's your health, and 
your family's good health, 
and may you all live long 

A photo, of Dr. Pan- 
coast stands near a 
bust of Mrs. Kendal 
as Gafafea, done when 
she was seventeen. I)r, 
Pancoast - a celebrated 
American physician — 
saved Mrs. Kendal's 
life when her maid 
accidentally administered 
a poisonous drug to „**. KEr , PAL 

her mistress* The poor girt herself nearly 
died of fright 

But perhaps the portrait of the late Duchess 
of Cambridge, which Mrs, Kendal now holds 
in her hand, is more interesting than them all. 
"Her late Rcyal Highness/' Mrs. Kendal 
said, u always addressed me and wrote to me 
as Mrs. Grimston. She was paralyzed in her 
right hand and wrote with her left ; perhaps 
that is why this letter, written in pencil and 
with great effort, is treasured more than it 
otherwise would have been." 

It was one of the last letters written by 
Her Royal Highness. The letters and words 
were wonderfully legible ; it read : — 

"Dear Mrs. Grimston, -One line only 
to thank you for sending me the stalls for my 
dressers, who enjoyed your and Mr. Grim- 
ston 7 s charming acting immensely. My first 
deaf one was able to follow perfectly, thanks 
to your having kindly let her have the book 
previously, Again thanking you, 
"I remain, 

u Yours very sincerely, 

" Augusta. n 
And in a little cabinet in the far corner 
is a beautiful Sevres bowl. In the bowl is a 
telegram from " Princess Mary," asking Mrs. 
Kendal to come to St. James's Palace at 
once. Written on a black-edged envelope 
were these words : " To dearest Mrs, (irimston 
Kendal. A little souvenir. Found amongst 
the last wishes of her 
late Royal Highness the 
Duchess of Cambridge." 

It is only just possible 
to hasten through the 
collection of substantial 
reminiscences w T hich add 
to the charm of this 
corner of the house. 
The quaint white china 
hare was given to Mrs. 
Kendal many years ago 
by Mr, John Hare, when 
playing together at the 
Court. A curious but 
vividly suggestive idea of 
Japanese wit, in the shape 
of a couple of character- 
istically dressed figures, 
typifies " Health " and 
"Wealth"; the figure, 
representing " Health " 
has a countenance of the 
deepest red, the other a 
..feperrall golden and as 
'resplendent as the sun. 

In a small frame is the 
Vol *— 31. 




letter from the Goethe Club of New York, 
making Mrs Kendal an honorary member. 
She is the only woman member of this 
club. And this pretty little doll dressed 
as a Quakeress — a charming compliment 
to the recipient — was presented by the 
Quakeresses of Philadelphia, who never, 
never, never go the play, yea, verily ! So they 
sent this as a tribute of their admiration for 
Hie talents and character of the woman who 
has been called " The Matron of the 

We sat down on a settee in front of the 
fire. The cushions were of white lawn 
marked with the initial "M,," and were 
worked by the late Lady 

Mrs. KendaPs happy 
and homely face is fami- 
liar to all She has a 
truly tender and sympa- 
thetic expression there at 
all times, Her hair was 
once that of the fair one 
with golden locks, now it 
is of a rich brown colour 
— very neatly and natur- 
ally trimmed about her 
head. She is very kind— 
very motherly ; just the 
woman you would single 
out in time of trouble 
an d ask, * i W ha t woul d 
you advise me to do ? J 
I gathered these impres- 
sions whilst listening to 
many things she said of 
which I need not write. 
Her views on theatrical 
life are strong, nay, 
severe. She is not afraid 
to speak, and she hits 
hard and sends her shots 
home. But you cannot mistake the earnest- 
ness of her manner, the true intent of her 

*' I am only a common-place woman/ 1 she 
said to me. ** I used to be ever so light- 
hearted now, I'm a morbid creature. Here 
we arc sitting down by the fireside, I may 
tell you happy reminiscences that may make 
one merry, and all the time I should be 
thinking about — what ? Cancer ! I return 
to my dressing-room from the stage at night. 
As I am passing along a fellow player may 
turn to me and say, ' How well the play has 
gone to-night ! ? I am only thinking of those 
who have trod that same stage before me* 
What are they now ? Dust — earth — worms I " 


I stirred the fire, and the bright glow from 
its burning embers lit up the corner where 
we sat And we talked together.* 

Margaret Brunton Robertson was born at 
Great Grimsby on March 15th, 1849 — 
curiously enough these lines will be read on 
the anniversary of her birthday. Her grand- 
father, father, and uncle were all actors. 

"I lived alone with my father and mother," 
she said, (t and the only real recollection I 
have of my father is his fine white beard, 
which he grew towards the latter days of his 
life, and a little advice he once gave me. 

"* Always count twenty,' he said, £ when 
you are walking across the quay at Bristol, 
then you won't hear the 
sailors swear ! } Yet he 
would use very bad lan- 
guage to me when he was 
teaching me my parts; 
for you know I com- 
menced acting at a very 
early age, I was only 
three when I made my 
first appearance — and I 
ruined the play. It was 
at the Mary lebone Theatre 
in the l Three Poor 
Travellers, 1 and I was a 
blind child. My nurse 
was in the front row of 
the pit— that is, in the 
very first row, for there 
were no stalls. All I 
thought about was my 
new shoes — a very pretty, 
dainty little pair, and as 
soon as I stepped on 
the stage, I opened my 
eyes, caught sight of the 
delighted face of my 
nurse, and cried out :- — 
" * Oh ! nursey, dear, 
look at my new shoes ! ' 

"I played at Chute's Theatre in Bristol 
in many child's parts. When my father went 
to the wall over the Lincoln Circuit, Mr. 
Chute engaged him as an actor, and I went 
with him* I remember in ' A Midsummer 
Night's Dream ' — I was Mustard Seed, I think, 
or Ptas Blossom; at any rate, some small 
character that required very prettily dressing, 
and plenty of flowers on my little costume, 
I am as fond of flowers to-day as I was then* 
Well, when once I got on the stage in my 
pretty dres^frfffi^vhich I was particularly 
proud^brfj^ I had to be 

bought 'on with 'apples and oranges ! There 
they would stand at the wings^ and the price 



would go up — up- -up — two oranges, three 
oranges, three oranges and two apples — 
until I inwardly murmured a childish equiva- 
lent for L sold/ and toddled off, 

"I acted Eva in * Uncle Tom's Cabin 5 
when 1 was eight I think I was always a 
sad child — I looked forty when I was fifteen. 
After little Eva I used to play anything." 

And they were hard times for little Madge 
— she worked like the brave little woman 
she was. Her childish thoughts were con- 
stantly with her parents — how best could she 
add to the weekly income. And this is what 
the same little Madge would do. Night after 
night, after playing in a serious piece, she 
would appear in burlesque, sing, dance, and 
crack her small jokes 
with the best of them. 
It was hard work that 
made her a woman — it 
was dearly - bought ex- 
perience that gave birth 
to the sympathetic heart 
she has to-day. 

So at fourteen she was 
a woman grown— and at 
fifteen at Hull played 
Lady Macbeth to Phelps's 
Macbeth 1 

" I was dressed in my 
mother's clothes," Mrs. 
Kendal said, "and I fear 
I must have looked a 
fearful guy ! " 

At rehearsal Phelps 
looked upon the young 

" And who — who is 
this child?" asked the 
great actor. 

" Madge Robertson," ***"i**i.i 
the manager answered; 
"a rare favourite here. It was a choice 
between her and a very old woman, Mr. 

u Then let the young woman play f by all 
means," Phelps said. 

What a night it was ! At the end of the 
play they wanted her on again, but Phelps 
was obdurate, A party of men came round, 
and threatened to throw Phelps into the 
H umber ! Phelps remained firm. 

"He was kindness itself through it all," 
Mrs. Kendal assured me, "and though I did 
not go on again, he proved his thoughtful- 
ness a little later on by sending for me to 
play Lady Teazle. I played the leading parts 
during the three nights Phelps remained m 
Hull in ( The Man of the World/ * Richelieu/ 


and 'Macbeth.* On July 29th, 1865, I made 
my debut in London, at the Haymarket, as 
Ophelia to the Hamkt of Walter Mont- 
gomery. Poor Montgomery ! He was what 
you would call a s lady-killer' — very conceited, 
but, withal, very kind. He once wrote a 
letter to my father, and added a postscript, 
saying : * Keep this letter. Should poverty 
fall upon you or yours, your great-grand- 
children may he able to sell it for a good sum 
of money ! } I was only with him six w T eeks«" 
The only play of her brother's in which 
Mrs, Kendal has appeared was "Dreams," 
when the Gaiety first opened At this time 
the managers always tried to induce Mrs* 
Kendal to appear in a riding habit — a costume 
in which she looked 
strikingly handsome. 

"Alfred Wigan played 
in * Dreams/" continued 
Mrs. Kendal. "His wife 
was one of the kindest 
women I ever met. She 
gave me a gold bracelet 
for a very curious little 
service I used to render 
her husband every night. 
He had to sing a song 
in ( Dreams/ and one or 
two of the high notes 
were beyond his reach, 
I used to take these* 
notes for him, and the 
audience never guessed 
the truth," 

"And have you not 
played Desdtniona t n I 

" Oh ! yes — and to 
a real black man, and 
so he did not have 
to put his head up the 
chimney to make himself up for the part ! 
His name was Ira Aldridge, and scandal said 
he was the dresser of some great actor whom 
he used to imitate. But he had very inge- 
nious ideas as to the character of Othdh. 
He thought him a brute, and played him as 
such. His great notion was to get the fairest 
woman possible for Desdemona~&r\d. I was 
selected, for at that time my hair was quite 

"In one part of the play he would cry out, 
' Give me thy hand, Desdemona ! ' and 
certainly the effect of my hand in his huge 
grasp was impressive. Then in the last 
act h^.Jf^M^llJI^^ip the couch by the 
hair of my head. Oh ! there was something 
in his realism, I can tell you ! " 

[by &tt*Mtu}, 



Miss Robertson made a great sensation 
when she appeared as Blanche Dumoni, in 
Dr. Westland Marston's "Hero of Romance," 
when it was performed for the first time at 
the Haymarket Theatre, on March 14th, 
1868, Seventeen months after this, on 
August 7th, 1869, she was Madge Robertson 
no longer. On that day she was married 
to Mr. William Hunter Grimston, whose 
stage name is Kendal It is a charming 
little story. 

It occurred at Manchester. Mr. Kendal and 
Miss Robertson were on tour with the elder 
Compton, and they were — sweethearts. A 
convenient time seemed to have arrived for 
their wedding day, for on the Thursday, 
Friday, and Saturday nights pieces were to 
be played in which neither of them would be 
required- This would mean a nice little 
honeymoon — and the two lovers would 
re-appear on the Monday night. So the 
day was fixed — Thursday ; the church 
chosen — St Saviour's, Plymouth Grove ; 
and the best man booked —Walter Go wing, 
who used to play under the name of Walter 

Then bad news came, Compton's brother 
was taken ill, and he had to hurry away from 
Cottonopolis. Another play had to be put 
in the bill, both Mr. Kendal and Miss 
Robertson would be needed— for it was " As 
You like It," and the one would be wanted 
for Orlando and the other for Rosalind. Still, 
the wedding was proceeded with on Thursday 
morning, quietly and happily, and in the 

evening husband and wife met on the stage 
in the Forest of Arden. There, with Ce/ia 
as the priest, amidst the leafy trees and 
grassy pathways* Orlando turns to the merry 
Ce/ia, and pointing to the far, far happier 
Rosalind^ cries out : — 

" Pray thee, marry us ! )? 

"Will you, Orlando, have to wife this 
Rosalind ? " 

" I will." 

"Then," Rosalind pertly remarks, "you 
must say, i I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'* 

"I take thee, Rosalind, for wife," said 
Orlando, earnestly. 

Then Rosalind asked, "Now tell me 
how long you would have her after you 
have possessed her ? " 

And Orlando replied — both in the words 
of Shakespeare and in the language of his 
own heart — " For ever and a day ! " 

That is the true story of the wedding of 
Mr. and Mrs. Ken dak It was a natural 
desire of each never to play apart from the 
other, and from that day they have never 
separated. For some seven years Mr, and 
Mrs. Kendal played at the Haymarket, under 
Buckstone's management, and the gifted 
actress merrily referred to the little jokes 
played on " Bucky " by some of the actors. 
He was stone deaf, and could only take his 
cues when to speak from the movements of 
his fellow-actors 1 lips, so they would annoy 
him by continuing the lip movement, and 
" Bucky " sometimes got " stuck-" 

Little need be said of Mrs. KendaFs 

/rpro a Photo, byj 





subsequent work — her acting at the Court, 
the Prince of Wales's, and her labours at the 
St James's, when, in 1881, she appeared there 
under the joint management of Mr. Kendal 
and Mr, Hare + Not only in this country has 
her name become fondly familiar in the 
hornet of those who "go to the theatre" and 
those who "never would," but in America 
the artistic acting of herself and husband 
has been instantly and enthusiastically 

I left the drawing-room — pausing, before 
entering Mr Kendal's study, to admire the 
aviary — a veritable home of song — and to 
notice one diminutive member of the 
feathered tribe in particular, who has been 
taught by Miss Grimston to perform tricks 
ad lib^ in addition 
to giving forth the 
sweetest of notes. 

The study is a 
very delicate apart- 
ment in terra-cotta 
and gold — here and 
there are quaint blue 
china vases and 
many exquisite 
bronzes. The window 
in the recess where 
the table is —a typical 
study table, suggest- 
ing plenty of work — 
is of stained glass, 
the quartet of divi- 
sions representing the 
four seasons. A 
glance round the 
walls of this room 
at once reveals the 
substantial side of 
Mr. Kendal's artistic 
hobby- -pictures. In 
this apartment there 
is nothing but water- 
colours, save a very 
clever pen-and-ink 
sketch by a New - 

York artist, called "Six Months After 
Marriage," which Jefferson caught sight 
of at the New York Dramatic Bazaar, and 
reminded Mr. Kendal to " keep his eye on," 
and a portrait or two of Mrs. Kendal and 
the children. " Hetty Sorrell J ' at her butter 
pats, with her thoughts very far from the 
churning-pan ? is a gem. "The Last of St, 
Bartholomew " is a magnificent bit of painting, 
and the Venetian views at once carry one 
back to the home of the merry gondolier and 
perfect moonlight nights. This picture of 


Salvini — who its possessor assured me was the 
finest tragedian he had ever seen — was painted 
by Mr Kendal himself The bookcase, run- 
ning along opposite the window, contains many 
rare first editions, of which Mr. Kendal is a 
very persevering and successful collector, and 
a bound manuscript copy of every play pro- 
duced by him, together with the original 
Sketches for the scenery. You may look 
over the "Scrap "of Paper/' "The Falcon," 
11 Queen's Shilling," " Ladies' Battle, 1 ' " Clan- 
carty," "The Ironmaster," "The Money 
Spinner," and " The Squire " — Pinero's play, 
of which somebody wrote that it wafted 
the scent of the new-mown hay across the 

It is interesting to learn how Mr. Kendal 
first came across 

" I only knew him 
as an actor at the 
Lyceum," he said, 
"and had never met 
him. He wrote and 
asked if we would let 
him read a play to 
us. As a rule we 
never do that; but, 
remembering that 
Pinero was himself 
a player, we made 
an exception. So it 
came about that one 
day, after a rehearsal, 
the actor playwright 
read his piece to us 
in the foyer of the 
St. James's. We 
never expected any- 
thing at first, but the 
reading ended in our 
taking the play 
immediately, though 
we scarcely knew 
what we should do 
with it, seeing it was 
a two-act play* We 
found an opportunity, however, and you 
know the success it was. It was called *The 
Money Spinner.* n 

Mr, Kendal is a striking-looking man — 
the very ideal of a picturesque soldier, with 
a constitution of steeL He talks to you 
frankly, easily, for there is not two penny- 
worth of presumption about him* He lives 
and labour? very quietly — he enjoys his days, 

between the stage ana the brush. His pencil 
and palette have been with him in far-ofi 



places, and there is always a corner in his 
bag for them if he only travels twenty miles 
from Harlcy Street His peculiarity of paint- 
ing — so to speak — lies in the fact that he 
never fails to chronicle the view obtained 
from any hotel where he may be staying. 
He showed me a book full of these hasty 
impressions — all of which were most beau- 
tifully done— -many of them he could only 
give ten minutes or a quarter of an hour to. 
Two of these I brought away for reproduc- 
tion in these pages ; they are both un- 
finished, however — the pencil reminders of 
certain little additions tell that 

The first of these is a view of the In- 
firmary as seen from Mr. Kendal's window 
at the Queen's Hotel, Manchester; the second 
— done in a quarter of an hour — shows the 
way the Americans erect their buildings for 
exhibiting a cyclorama — popularly known 
here as a panorama. It was done from a 
back window in an hotel in Cleveland, U.S.A. 
The actor -artist never learnt drawing, save 
for a few hours' lessons he took at the Slade 
Schools under the tuition of Le Gros. 

Mr. Kendal — William Hunter Grimston — 
was bom at Notting Hill, and just outside the 
sound of Bow Bells, on December 16th, 1843, 
His parents belonged to the Low Church, 
and their views of the theatre in general, and 
on adopting the stage as a profession in par- 
ticular, will be readily understood. Mr, 
Kendal was intended for the Army — how he 
came to " go on " the stage is best told in 
his own words : — 

" I had only been to three or four panto- 
mimes previously," he said, " and one night 
— I was about eighteen years of age at the 
time — I found myself in the stalls of the old 
Soho Theatre, in Dean Street, Soho, now 
known as the Royalty Theatre. My paper 
and pencil were out, and I was busily en- 
gaged in making sketches of the various 
actors and actresses. The piece was ( Billie 
Taylor. 3 Suddenly I felt a gentle tap on the 
shoulder from behind. I turned round. 

11 * Would you allow me to take those 
sketches round and show the * parties* in- 
terested ? ' a gentleman asked. 

"* Certainly; with pleasure/ I replied. 


He draws everything that impresses him — 
his painting memory is remarkable* He sees 
a man's face in the street, carries it home 
in his mind, and it will be very faithfully put 
on paper or canvas. 

We talked for a long time on £( pictures 7? — 
he was so happy and earnest about it that it 
was some time before we made an attempt to 
tread the boards and get behind the footlights. 

" ■ Perhaps you would like to come behind 
the scenes as well ? J 

u It was just what I wanted, so I followed the 
person who had so kindly interested himself 
in my scribble. He proved to be Mr. Mowbray, 
the manager o: r the theatre. The picture 
behind 4NC) kfcNAabl hthAS R &FSHC was a perfect 
Elysium to me, I think Mowbray must have 
noticed the impression it made upon me, for 


2 $9 

he asked if I would like to go on the stage, 
I did — as a sort of super." 

Mr. Kendal's first important engagement 
lasted four" or five years at the Theatre 
Royal, Glasgow. Here he met and played 
with such people as Helen Faucit (Lady 
Martin), G- V. Brooke, Mn and Mrs. Charles 
Kean, Dion Boucicault, Fechter, Miss Bate- 
man (Mrs. Crowe), and the elder Sothern. 

" ' Suppose I spend that amount of money 
on the place, will you take it?' Lord Newry 

"My only reply was that I would think 
about it. In the meantime I went to the Court, 
from there to the Prince of Wales's to play in 

* Diplomacy ' — it mn a year — * Peril ' and 

* London Assurance/ Then I returned to the 
Court again, and during this time Lord 


When Sothern left, the accomplished young 
actor played Dundrear\\ and found him- 
self straying in the footsteps of the famous 
originator of the part, even to the hop, One 
would have thought that people would have 
praised the actor for taking such a worthy 
example — but it displeased Tom Taylor, and 
he wrote very wrathfully. Then Mr. Kendal 
went to the Haymarket, met Miss Robertson, 
and from their wedding day their lives may 
be said to have been the same in thought, 
word, and deed. 

As an organizer and man of business his 
tact and judgment were tested and proved 
during his joint management of the St. James's 
with Mr. Hare in 1881, For some time 
previous to this Mr. Kendal had been 
on the look-out for a theatre, and his 
mind wandered towards the St. James's, hut 
it required a large sum of money spending on 
it before it could be opened. 

" One night I was talking to Lord Newry at 
my club/ 3 said Mr. Kendal, "and happened 
to say that if ^2,000 or so were spent on the 
St, James's I might feel inclined to take it 

Newry had practically gutted the old and 
unlucky St. James's, turned it inside out — 
John Hare, my wife and self entered* and we 
remained there nearly ten years." 

Mr. and Mrs. Kendal share the same 
opinion of America — it is the land of to-day, 
the land of the future. As to its theatres in 
comparison with ours, Mrs. Kendal — who 
had now joined us — was most enthusiastic. 
I had reached the pillars, from which hung 
curtains of intricate Japanese workmanship, 
leading to the hall. Victoria, the Jubilee 
dog, was barking a friendly " Good-bye, " and 
the lusty throats of Miss Grimston's two an d- 
twenty canaries forced their sweet notes from 
a far-away room into the passage* 

f * I will give you some idea of what an 
American theatre is like/' said Mrs. Kendal. 
" You reach your destination by rail at some 
small place for a one-night stay. If it is 
raining and the ground is wet, men in long 
jack-boots cacch hold of. you and gallantly 
take yoLi across the puddles. You do not 
see a soul about — and you are in fear and 
trembling as to where your night's audience 



is coming from. You get to your hotel, and 
then your next thought is — where is the 
theatre ? You expect to find a little, un- 
comfortable, band-box of a place, and you set 
out to see it with a heavy heart. It is a 
palace— a marble palace— a positive poem ! 
And your heart leaps happily — only to drop 
dull again, for you suddenly remember that 

you have seen — nobody, not even the oldest 
inhabitant You turn to the manager, 

" £ Yes, yes — but, what about an audience, 
how are you going to fill it? J you ask* 

(t ' Wall,' he replies, * I don't trouble my- 
Kuir much about that* I reckon that every seat 
in this theatre is sold for to-night, that's all 1 ' " 

Harry How. 

From n Photo, by] 

M k. K E,N DA L. J Af « « ri "ff Stef iArn4, tin rro; tft t 

by Google 

Original from 

" Author! Author!" 

By E, W, Hornung* 

Pharazvn had 

HIS story has to do with two 
men and a play 3 instead of a 
woman, and it is none of mine, 
I had it from an old gentle- 
man I love : only he ought to 
have written it himself. This, 
however, he will never do ; having known 
intimately in his young days one of the two 
men concerned. But I have his leave to 
repeat the story more or less as he told it — 
if I can. And I am going to him for my 
rebuke— when I dare, 

" You want to hear the story of poor old 
Pharazyn and his play ? I'm now going to 
tell it you. 

" Ah, well ! My recollection of the matter 
dates from one summer's night at my old 
rooms in the Add phi, when he spoilt my 
night's work by coming in flushed with an 
idea of his own* I remember banging the 
drawer into which I threw my papers to lock 
them away for the night; but in a few 
minutes 1 had forgotten my unfinished 
article, and was glad that 
come* We were young 
writers, both of us ; and, 
let me tell you, my good 
fellow, young writing wasn't 
in those days what it is now. 
I am thinking less of merit 
than of high prices, and 
less of high prices than of 
cheap notoriety. Neither 
of us had ever had our 
names before the public — 
not even in the advertised 
contents of an unread and 
unreadable magazine. No 
one cared about names in 
my day, save for the half- 
du/un great ones that were 
then among us ; so Pha- 
razyn^s and mine never used 
to appear in the news- 
papers, though some of 
them used our stuff. 

" In a manner we were 
rivals, for we were writing 
the same sort of thing for the 
same sort of publications, and that was how 
we had come together ; but newr was rivalry 
friendlier, or mutually more helpful. Our 
parts were strangely complementary ; if I 

could understand for the life of me the secret 
of collaboration, w T hich has always been a 
mystery to me, I should say that I might have 
collaborated with Pharazyn almost ideally. 
I had the better of him in point of educa- 
tion, and would have turned single sentences 
against him for all he was worth ; and I don't 
mind saying so, for there my superiority 
ended, When he had a story to tell^ he told 
it with a swing and impetus which I coveted 
him, as well I might to this day i and if he 
was oftener without anything to write about, his 
ideas would pay twenty shillings in the pound, 
in strength and originality, where mine made 
some contemptible composition in pence. 
That is why I have been a failure at fiction 
— oh, yes, I have ! That is why Pharazyn 
would have succeeded, if only he had stuck 
to plain ordinary narrative prose. 

"The idea he was unable to keep within 
his own breast, on the evening of which I 
am telling you, was as new, and simple, and 
dramatic as any that ever intoxicated the soul 
of story-teller or made a brother author green 
with envy. I can see him now, as I watched 
him that night, flinging to 
and fro with his quick, ner- 
vous stride, while he sketched 
the new story — bit by bit, 
and often the wrong bit 

Original frc 


Vol. V. 32, 

--1 -' 


foremost; but all with his own flashing 
vividness* which makes me so sorry — so 
sorry whenever 1 think of it. At moments 
he would stand still before the chair on which 
I sat intent, and beat one hand upon the 
other, and look down at me with a grand, 
wondering smile, as though he himself could 
hardly believe what the gods had put into his 
head, or that the gift was real gold, it 
glittered so at first sight On that point I 
could reassure him. My open jealousy made 
me admire soberly. But when he told me, 
quite suddenly, as though on an afterthought, 
that he meant to make a play of it and not a 
story, I had the solid satisfaction at that 
moment of calling him a fool. 

" The ordinary author of my day, you see, 
had a certain timorous respect for the 
technique of the stage* It never occurred 
to us to make light of 
those literary conven- 
tions which it was not 
our bus : ness to under- 
stand* We were behind 
you fellows in every 
way. But Phara/yn 
was a sort of fore- 
runner : he said that 
any intelligent person 
could write a play, if 
he wanted to s and pro- 
vided he could write at 
all* He said his story 
was a born play; and 
it was, in a way ; but 
I told him I doubted 
whether he could train 
it up with his own 
hand to be a good 
acting one* 1 knew I 
was right He had 
neither the experience 
nor the innate con- 
structive faculty, one 
or other of which is 
absolutely necessary for 
the writing of possible 
plays* I implored him 
to turn the thing into 
a good dramatic novel, 
and so make his mark 
at one blow. But no; 
the fatal fit was on 

him, and I saw that it must run its course. 
Already he could see and hear his audience 
laughing and crying*, so he said, and I daresay 
he could also feel the crinkle of crisp weekly 
receipts. I only know that we sat up all night 
over it, arguing and smoking and drinking 


whisky until my windows overlooking the 
river caught the rising sun at an angle. Then 
I gave in, For poor old PhaTazyn was more 
obstinate than ever, though he thanked me 
with the greatest good temper for my well- 
meant advice. 

" * And look here, my boy, J says he, as he 
puts on his hat* ' you shan't hear another 
word about this till the play's written ; and 
you are to nsk no questions. Is that a 
bargain ? Very well, then. When IVe 
finished it — down to the very last touches — 
you shall come and sit up ail night with me, 
and I'll read you every word. And by gad, 
old chap } if they give me a call the first 
night, and want a speech— and I see you 
sitting in your stall, like a blessed old fool 
as you are — by gad, sir, I'll hold up you and 
your judgment to the ridicule of the house, 

so help me never i ' 

"Well, I am com- 
ing to that first night 
presently. Meanwhile, 
for the next six months, 
I saw very little of 
Pharazyn, and less still 
in the new year. He 
seldom came to my 
r oms now ; when he 
did I could never get 
him to stay and sit up 
with me ; and once 
when I climbed up to 
his garret (it was 
literally that), he would 
not answer me, though 
I could smell his pipe 
through the key-hole, 
in which he had 
turned the key. Yet he 
was perfectly friendly 
whenever we did meet. 
He said he was working 
very hard, and indeed I could 
inuigine it; his personal appear- 
ance, which he had never 
cherished^ being even untidier, 
and I am obliged to add seedier, 
than of old* He continued to send 
me odd magazines in which his stuff 
rough happened to appear, or occasionally 
a proof for one's opinion and sugges- 
tions ; we had done this to each other 
all along ; but either I did not think about it, 
or somehow he led me to suppose that his 
things were more or less hot from the pen, 
whereas many of mine had been written a 

One way or another. 1 gathered that he was at 



work in our common groove, and had shelved, 
for the present at all events, his proposed 
play, about which you will remember I had 
undertaken to ask no questions. 

" I was quite mistaken. One night in the 
following March he came to me with a 
haggard face, a beaming eye, and a stout, 
dean manuscript, which he brought down 
with a thud on my desk. It was the play 
he had sketched out to me eight or nine 
months before. I was horrified to hear he 
had been at work upon it alone from that 
night to this. He had written, so he said, 
during all this time, not another line, only 
each line of his play some ten times over 

il I recollect looking curiously at his 
shabby clothes, and then reminding him that 
it was at his place, not mine, I was to have 
heard him read the play : and how he con- 
fessed that he had no chair for me there — 
that his room was, in fact, three parts dis- 
mantled — that he had sacrificed everything 
to the play, which was worth it, I was 
extremely angry, I could have helped him 
so easily, independent as I was of the 
calling I loved to follow* But there was 
about him always an accursed, unnecessary 
independence, which has since struck me— 
and I think I may say so after all 
these years — as the mark of a 
rather humble, very honest origin. 

"He read me the play, and I 
cried over the third act, and so did 
he. I thought then, and still think, 
that there was genius in that third 
act — it took you off your feet And 
to me, certainly, it seemed as if the 
piece must act as well as it read, 
though indeed, as I took care to say 
and to repeat, my opinion was well- 
nigh valueless on that point I only 
knew that I could see the thing play- 
ing itself, as I walked about the room 
(for this time I was the person who 
was too excited to sit still), and that 
was enough to make one sanguine* 
I became as enthusiastic about it as 
though the work were mine (which 
it never, never would or could have 
been), yet I was unable to suggest a 
single improvement, or to have so 
much as a finger-tip in the pie. Nor 
could I afterwards account for its 
invariable reception at the hands of 
managers, whose ways were then 
unknown to mo. That night we 
talked only of one kind of reception. 
We were still talking when the sun 
came slanting up the river to my 

windows j you could hardly see them for 
tobacco-smoke, and we had emptied a bottle 
of whisky to the success of Pharazyn's 
immortal play* 

"Oh, those nights — those nights once in 
a way ! God forgive me, but Fd sacrifice 
many things to be young again and feel 
clever, and to know the man who would 
sit up all night with me to rule the 
world over a bottle of honest grog. In 
the pale light of subsequent revelations 
I ought, perhaps, to recall such a night, 
with that particular companion, silently and 
in spiritual ashes, But it is ridiculous, in my 
opinion, to fit some sort of consequence to 
every little insulated act; nor will I ever 
admit that poor Pharazyn's ultimate failing 
was in any appreciable degree promoted or 
prepared for by those our youthful full-souled 
orgies. I know very well that afterwards, 
when his life was spent in waylaying those 
aforesaid managers, in cold passages, on stage 
doorsteps, or, in desperation, under the public 
portico on the street ; and when a hundred 
snubs and subterfuges would culminate in 
the return of his manuscript, ragged but un- 
read : I know, and I knew then, that the 
wreck who would dodge me in Fleet Street, 

FginaKfrom : 
-4Hffl^ULEilVERSITY j 




or cut me in the Strand, had taken to his 
glass more seriously and more steadily than 
a man should. But I am not sure that it 
matters much — much^ you understand me — 
when that man's heart is broken. 

" The last words I was ever to exchange 
with my poor old friend keep ringing in my 
head to this day, whenever I think of him ; 
and I can repeat them every one. It was 
some few years after our intimacy had ceased, 
and when I only kni^w that he had degener- 
ated into a Fleet Street loafer of the most 
dilapidated type, that I 
caught sight of him one 
day outside a theatre. It 
was the theatre which was 
for some years a gold- 
mine to one Morton Mor- 
rison, of whom you may 
never have heard ; but he 
was a public pet in his 
day, I can tell you, and 
his day was just then at its 
high noon. Well, there 
stood Pharazvn, with his 
hands in his pockets and 
a cutty-pipe sticking out 
between his ragged beard 
and moustache, and 
his shoulders against 
the pit door, so that 
for once he could not 
escape me* But he 
wouldn't take a hand 
out of his pocket to 
shake mine ; and 
when I asked him 
how he was, without 
thinking, he laughed 
in my face, and it 
made me feel cruel 
He was dreadfully 
emaciated, and al- 
most in rags. And as 
1 wondered what I 
ought to do, and what to say next, he gave a 
cough, and spat upon the pavement, and I 
could see the blood. 

i£ I don't know what you would have done 
for him — but for all I knew what had 
brought him to this, I could think of nothing 
but a drink. It was mid-winter, and I tell 
you the man was in rags. I felt that if I 
could get him to a bar he might eat some- 
thing, too, and that I should get a hold of 
him this time which I would never again let 
go. Judge of my surprise when he flatly 
refused to come with me even for a drink. 

u * Can't you see ? he said in his hollow 
voice. * There'll be a crowd here directly* 
and I want the best seat in the pit — the best 
in the house. I've been going dry for it 
these two days, and I'm going dry till I've 
seen the piece. No, I've been here an hour 
already, and there's three hours more, I 
know ; but I'm not going to risk it, thanks all 
the same.' 

" By this I had remembered that Morton 
Morrison was to re-open that night with a 
new piece. Indeed, I ought not to have 
forgotten that, seeing that I had my order 

about me somewhere, 
and it meant acolumn 
from my pen between 
twelve and one that 
night But this sud- 
de n , sorry meeti ng had 
put all other thoughts 
out of my head 

Ui My dear fellow/ 
I said, with a sort of 
laugh, 'are you a 
first-nighter, too ? J 

" < Only at this 

tl He looked me 
queerly in the face. 

l * l You admire 
Morrison very 
much ? ' 

** ( I love him ! ' 
'* I su ppose my 
eyes thawed him, 
though God knows 
how hard I was try- 
ing not to hurt him 
with pitying looks. 
At all events he began 
to explain himself of 
his own accord, very 
impetuously ; indeed 
I rather think the 
outburst was purely 
said, with his hoarse 
voice lowered : * I hoped never to see your 
face again. I hoped you'd never see mine, 
But now you are here, don't go this minute, 
and Til tell you why I think so much of 
Morton Morrison, I don't know him, mind 
you — he doesn't know me from Adam— but 
once long ago I had something to do with 
him. And God bless him, but damn every 
other manager in London, for he was the 
only one of the lot that gave me a civil 

* I knew what he was talking about, and 


"'Look here,' he 



he knew that I knew, for we had understood 
one another in the old days, 

u ' I took it to him last of all/ he went on, 
wiping his damp lips with his hand. ' When 
I began hawking it about he was an unknown 
man ; when his turn came he was here. He 
let me read it to him. Then he asked me 
to leave it with him for a week ; and when I 
went back to him, he said what they had all 
said— that it would never act I But Morton 
Morrison said it nicely. And when he saw 
how it cut me up, into little bits, he got me 
to tell him all about everything ; and 
then he persuaded me to burn the play, 
instead of ruining my life for it ; and I burnt 
it in his dressing-room fire, but the ruin was 
too far gone to mend. I wrote that thing 
with my heart's blood — old man, you know I 
did ! And none of them would think of it ! 
My God ! But Morrison was good about it 
— he's a good soul — and that's why you'll see 
me at every first night of his until the drink 
finishes its work. 1 

*' I had not followed him quite to the end* 
One thing had amazed me too much. 

t(l You burnt your play,' I could only 
murmur, 'when it would have turned into 
such a novel ! Surely you have some draft 
of it still ? J 

"'I burnt the lot when I got home, 1 
Pharazyn replied ; ' and 
by-and-by I shall join 'em 
and burn too ! * 

"1 had nothing to 
answer to that, and was, 
besides, tenacious of my 
point 1 1 don't think much 
of the kindness that makes 
one man persuade another 
to burn his work and 
throw up the sponge/ said 
I, with a good deal of in- 
dignation, for I did feel 
wroth with that fellow 
Morrison — a bread-and- 
butter drawing-room actor, 
whose very vogue used to 
irritate me. 

( * ' Then what do you 
think of this ? J asked Phar- 
azyn, as he dipped a hand 
within his shabby coat, 
and cautiously unclenched 
it under my nose* 

" ' Why, it's a five-pound 
note! 1 

" * I know ; but wasn't that kind, then ? 3 

M * So Morrison gave you this V I ex- 

"Two or three persons had stopped to 
join us at the pit door, and Pharazyn hastily 
put the note back in his pocket As he 
did so, his dreadfully shabby condition gave 
my heart a fresh cut. 

u l Are you never going to spend that ? ' I 
asked in a whisper ; and in a whisper he 
answered : — 

iL ' Never ! It is all my play has brought 
me — all It was given me as a charity, but 
I took it as mv earnings — my earnings for all 
the work and waiting, and blood and tears, 
that one thing cost me. Spend it? Not I ! 
It will bury me as decently as I deserve. 1 

" We could converse no more. And the 
presence of other people prevented me from 
giving him my o%ercoat, though I spoke of 
it into his ear, begging and imploring him to 
come away and take it while there was still 
time for him to slip back and get a seat in 
the front row. But he would not hear of it, 
and the way he refused reminded me of his 
old stubborn independence; all I got 
was a promise that he would have a bite with 
me after the performance. And so I left him 
in the frosty dusk, ill-clad and unkempt, with 
the new-lit lamp over the pit door shining 
down upon the haggard mask that had once 
been the eager, memorable face of my 
cleverest friend. 


** I saw hlrrii next the moment 1 entered 
the thft^e.f-jlialt evening, and I nodded my 
head to him, which he rebuked with the 



slightest shake of his own. So I looked no 
more at him before the play began, com- 
prehending that he desired me not to do so. 
The temptation, however, was too strong to 
go on resisting, for while Pharazyn was in the 
very centre of the front row in the pit, I 
was at one end of the last row of the stalls ; 
and I was very anxious about him, wanting 
to make sure that he was there and not 
going to escape me again, and nervous of 
having him out of my sight for five minutes 

"Thus I know more about the gradual 
change which came over Pharazyn's poor 
face, as scene followed scene, than of the 
developments and merits of those scenes 
themselves. My mind was in any case running 
more on my lost friend than on the piece ; 
but it was not till near the end of the first 
act that the growing oddity of his look first 
struck me. 

" His eyebrows were raised ; it was a 
look of incredulity chiefly ; yet I could 
see nothing to impale for improbability in 
the play as far as it had gone. I was but 
lightly attending, for my own purposes, as 
you youngsters skim your betters for review ; 
but thus far the situation struck me as at 
once feasible and promising. Also it seemed 
not a little familiar to me ; I could not say 
why, for watching Pharazyn 's face. And 
it was his face that told me at last, in 
the second act. By God, it was his own 
play ! 

" It was Pharazyn's play, superficially 
altered all through, nowhere substantially ; 
but the only play for me, when I knew that, 
was being acted in the front row of the pit, 
and not on the stage, to which I had turned 
the side of my head. I watched my old 
friend's face writhe and work until it stiffened 
in a savage calm ; and watching, I thought 
of the ' first night ' he had pictured jovially 
in the old days, when the bare idea of the 
piece was bursting his soul ; and thinking, I 
wondered whether it could add a drop to his 
bitterness to remember that too. 

" Yet, through all my thoughts, I was 
listening, intently enough, now. And in 
the third act I heard the very words my 
friend had written : they had not meddled 
with his lines in the great scene which 
had moved us both to tears long ago in 
my rooms. And this I swear to, whether 
you believe it or no — that at the crisis 
of that scene, which was just as Pharazyn 
made it, the calm ferocity transfiguring his 
face died away all at once, and I saw it 
shining with the sweetest tears our eyes can 

shed — the tears of an artist over his own 

" And when the act was over he sat with 
his head on his hand for some minutes, 
drinking in the applause, as I well knew ; 
then he left his seat and squeezed out on my 
side of the house, and I made sure he was 
coming to speak to me over the barrier; and 
I got up to speak to him ; but he would 
not see me, but stood against the barrier 
with a mien as white and set as chiselled 

"What followed on the first fall of the 
curtain I shall relate as rapidly as it hap- 
pened. Louder call for an author I never 
heard, and I turned my eyes to the stage in 
my intense curiosity to see who would come 
forward ; for the piece had been brought out 
anonymously ; and I divined that Morrison 
himself was about to father it. And so he 
did ; but as the lie passed his lips, and in the 
interval before the applause — the tiny interval 
between flash and peal — the lie was given 
him in a roar of fury from my left; there fell 
a thud of feet at my side, and Pharazyn was 
over the barrier and bolting down the gang- 
way towards the stage. I think he was near 
making a leap for the footlights and con- 
fronting Morrison on his own boards ; but 
the orchestra came between, and the fiddlers 
rose in their places. Then he turned wildly 
to us pressmen, and I will say he had 
our ear, if not that of the whole house 
besides, for the few words he was allowed to 

" ' Gentlemen ! ' he cried at the top of his 
voice — * Gentlemen, I'm one of you ! I'm a 
writing man like yourselves, and I wrote this 
play that you've seen. That man never 
wrote it at all — I wrote it myself ! That 
man has only altered it. I read it to him two 
years ago — two years ago, gentlemen ! He 
kept it for a week, and then got me to burn 
it as rubbish — when he had made a copy of 
it ! And he gave me this, gentlemen — he 
gave me this that I give him back ! ' 

"It was a matter of only a few seconds, 
but not till my own last hour shall I forget 
Morrison's painted face on the stage, or that 
sweating white one beneath the boxes ; or 
the fluttering from Pharazyn's poor fingers of 
the five-pound note he had treasured for 
two years ; or the hush all over the house 
until the first hand was laid upon his dirty- 

" ' What ! ' he screamed, 4 do none of you 
believe me? Will none of you stand by 
me -isn^^^^^^^one man among 
you ' 



u And they threw him out with my name m stand him, Morrison kept his good name 

on his lips. And I followed, and floored a at least And that play was his great 

brute who was handling him roughly- And success i " 

nothing happened to me — because of what I ventured gently to inquire what had 

happened to Pharazyn ! ,J happened to Pharazyn. 

" He died in my arms," my old friend 

The dear old boy sat silent, his grey head cried, throwing up his head with an oath 


11 he c;aye me this/ 

on his hand. Presently he went on, more and a tear. "He died in a few minutes, 

to himself than to me : u What could I do ? outside the theatre. I could hear them 

What proof had I? He had burnt them clapping after he was dead— clapping his 

every one. And as long as the public would piece," 

by Google 

Original from 
























i ^-: i 







F the gentle reader, full of a general desire for 
knowledge and a particular enthusiasm for natural 

history, will refer to any one of the great 
standard works on birds, and, turning to 
the index, seek for the family title of the 
Conkaves, I have every hope and confi- 
dence that he will not find it ; because, as a 
matter of fact, it is a little invention of my 
own, and, I may modestly 
urge, rather a neat thing 

in scientific no- 
menclature, on the xv-^ BOT./tf 
whole, It has the 
advantage of includ- 
ing in one family the 
storks and the peli- 
cans, which in all 
orthodox books on birds 
are planted far apart 
and out of sight of 
each other, with many orders, tribes, and families 
between, Under my title they are gathered amic- 
ably together in the common possession of very long 
bills, like two tailors on a man's doorstep. The word 
is derived, in the proper and regular manner, from 
ancient sources ; from anik, a venerable Eastern word, 
signifying a nose or beak, and the I^atin avis, a bird, 


; -c 

x ■ 

\ \$jAi2ffs 





>*. 'i*--n«. | t* 




And I offer the term freely as my humble, but I trust useful, 
contribution to science ; my first contribution. 

The stork is regardedj in many countries, with a certain 
semi-superstitious reverence and esteem. After 
many prolonged and serious attempts to saturate 
myself with a similar feeling, I regret to confess 
to a certain smallness of esteem for the stork. 
You can't esteem a bird that makes ugly digs at 
your feet and heels with such a very big beak. 
Out in their summer quarters the storks are 
kept in by close wire, and close wire will 
give an air of inoffensiveness to most things, *** 
But, away in a by-yard> with a gate marked 
"private," there stands a shed wherein the 
storks are kept warm in winter, behind 
wooden bars ; and between these bars 
stork-heads have a way of dropping at the 


toes of the favoured passer-by, like to the 
action of a row of roadmen's picks. 

The stork has come off well in the 
matter of bodily endowment The pelican 
has a tremendous beak — -achieved, it would 
seem, by a skimping of material in the 
legs ; but the stork has the tremendous beak and 
legs of surprising growth as welL His wings, too, are 
something more than respectable* At flying, at eating, 
at portentous solemnity of demeanour— in all these and in 
other things the pelican and the stork score fairly evenly; 
but at walking the pelican is left behind at once. This 
makes one suspect the stork's honesty. The pelican has a 
good beak and wings, and pays for them, like an honest 
bird, out of its legs, just as the ostrich pays for its neck and 
legs out of its wings. But the stork is abnormally lucky 
in beak, neck, legs, and wings together, and even then has 
material left to lay out in superfluous knobs and wens to hang round its neck, which leads to 
a suspicion that many of its personal fittings belong properly to some other bird, I've a 
notion that the unlucky kiwi might identify some of the property. 


by Google 


vol ?.— s& 



-^ A. Vfc*£N^ 

Perhaps the adjutant should be acknowledged king of 
the conkavians, Billy, the Zoo adjutant, has, I believe, no 
doubt on the subject at all Billy is an ornament to the 
military profession —a very fine fellow, with a thing on the 
back of his neck like a Tangerine orange, and a wen on the 
front of it, which he can blow 
out whenever he wants to 
amuse himself, and e very- 
else handsome about 
He is an old 
soldier, too, is Billy, 
having been Adjutant 
of the Regent's Park 
Conkavian Corps for 
seventeen years; bet 
you knew nothing of his 
a^e, still you would 
call Billy an old soldier 
— upon a little acquaint- 
ance with his habits. 

There seems no valid reason 

why the professional aspirations of the stork should be 
restricted to the army. If an adjutant, why not a dean? 
Why not a proctor ? There is the making of a most 
presentable don about a stork ; and I have caught a stork 
in an attitude of judicial meditation that might do honour 
to any bench. There is no reason why "sober as a 
judge " should not be made to read "sober as a stork," 
except that the stork is the more solemn 
creature of the two ; and I think that ,jilft\\\j 
some species of stork - — say the 
marabou, for instance — might fairly claim brevet rank as judge, 
after the example of the adjutant The elevation of a beak 
to the bench might be considered an irregular piece of 
legal procedure ; but, bless you, it's nothing unusual with a 
storL Put any bench with something to eat on it anywhere 
within reach of a storks beak in this place, and you shall 
witness that same elevation, precedent or no precedent. 

A common white stork hasn't half the solid gravity of an 
adjutant or a marabou. He has a feline habit of expressing 
his displeasure by I >l owing and swearing- a habit bad and 

immoral in a cat, but worse in 
a stork accustomed to Church, 
Church, by-the-bye, is the keeper 
of all the conkavians, as well as 
of the herons, the flamingoes, 

the ibises, the egrets, and a number of other birds with names 

more difficult to spell. It is impossible to treat disrespectfully 

a man with such widespread responsibilities as this, or there 

might be a temptation to mention that he is not an unusually 

high Church, although his services are not always simple, 

often involving a matter of doctorin', But } then, some 

people will say anything, temptation or none. And after 

all, it is pleasant to know that, whatever a stork or a 

pelican wants, he always goes to Church. 

This being the case, there is a proverb about clean- 
liness that makes one w + onder why the marabou stork 
doesn't wash himsd&riqJDt isn't as though he never 
wanted it, I ttti&lAiH.^^KSiWpicion about this 



svvi ak:n-u. 



philosophic old sloven. I believe his profession of philosophic contemplation 
is assumed, because it is the easiest excuse for indolence. Now, a pelican is 
not a bird of graceful outline, but he is careful about his feathers. The pelican 
is a scrupulous old Dutchman^ and the stork is an 
uncleanly old Hindu. And uncleanly he must be 
left, for it takes a deal to shame a stork. You can't 
shame a bird that wraps itself in a convenient philo- 
sophy. <( Look here — look at me ! " you can imagine a 
pelican cleanliness-missionary saying to the stork. 
11 See how white and clean I keep all my feathers ! " 
" Um, ,; says the stork, " it only makes 'em a different 
colour/' " But observe ! I just comb through my 
pinions with my beak, so, and they all lie neat and 
straight!" "Well, and what's the good of that? "grunts the stork 
" And then you see," says the pelican, ignoring the question, " with a good 
long beak you can reach everywhere, over your back and under your 
wings ; see, I'm as clean under my wings as anywhere else, although 
it's covered up I " " Beastly vanity," growls 
the old Hindu, getting bored "Then," con- 
tinues the Dutchman, " you give yourself a good 
shake, and there you are ! " "And then," says 
the philosopher sarcastically, " to-morrow, I 
suppose, you'll have to do it all over again ? " 
" Of course I " "Oh ! I hate a fool 1 " says the 
stork, and closes the lecture. 

Thus the marabou. The ordinary white stork 
is comparatively respectable, and so is the 
adjutant — or comparatively almost respectable, 

let us say \ you can't be too cautious 

in giving a personal character to a 


35§#fm TroT 



stork. For long, long, the stork has enjoyed a reputation 
for solemn wisdom, for philosophical dignity Now for 
the first time I venture to question this reputation — to 
impeach the stork as a humbug. It is easy to achieve a 
reputation for profound and ponderous wisdom, so long 
as one looks very solemn and says nothing. This is the 
stork's recipe. Go up to Billy here s or one of the marabous, 
as he stands with his shoulders humped up about his 
head, and make a joke. He won't see it. He will lift 
his eyebrows with a certain look of contempt, and con- 
tinue to cogitate — about nothing. If the joke is a very 
bad pun — such a frightful pun that even a stork will see 
and resent it — perhaps he will chatter his beak savagely, 
with a noise like the clatter of the lid on an empty # cigar- 
box ; but he will continue his sham meditations. " Ah, 
my friend," he seems to say ? " you are empty and frivolous 
—I cogitate the profounder immensities of esoteric cogi- 
bundity," The fact being that he is very seedy after his 
previous night's dissipation- 

That is the chief secret of the stork's solemnity, I am 
convinced. He has a certain reputation to maintain 
before visitors, but after hours, when the gates are shut 
and the keepers are not there to see, the marabou stork 
is a sad dtig* I haven't quite made up my mind what 
he drinks, but if he has brandies and sodas he leaves out 
too much soda- Look at that awful nose ! It is long 
past the crimson and pimply stage — it is taking a decided 
tinge of blue, It looks worse than brandy and soda — 
almost like bad gin — but we will be as charitable as pos- 
sible, and only call it brandy and soda. 


I should like to see the marabou 
stork on his nightly ran -tan, if only 
to gloat over his lapse of dignity, just 
as one would give much to see 
Benjamin Franklin with his face 
blacked, drunk and disorderly and 
being locked up. But, as a shocking 
example, the marabou is quite bad 
enough with his awful head in the 
morning ; his awful head and his 
disreputable nose, that looks to want 
a good scraping. I respect Billy, the 
adjutant, for his long service and the 
Tangerine at the back of his neck. 
The ordinary stork (although he 
swears and snaps) I also respect, 
because the goody books used to tell 
pious lies about him. The whale- 
headed stork, which is also called the shoe- 
bird, I respect as a sort of relative of the 
shoo- fly that didn't bother somebody. But the 
marabou has forfeited all respect — converted it 
into nose-tint I must talk to Church seriously 
about the marabou, 

Now, the pelican is no humbug. There is 

Original from 




nothing like conceal- 
ment about his little 
dissipations ; and he is 
perfectly sober. Any 
little irregularity at the 
pelican club just oppo- 
site the eastern 
aviary never goes 
beyond a quiet 
round or two for a 
little fish dinner. 
It is quite a select 
and a most proper 
eluh Indeed, the 
first rule is, that if 
any loose fish be 

found on the club premises, he is got rid of at once by the first member who detects him. 
And the club spirit is such that disputes frequently occur among members for the honour of 
carrying out this salutary rule. The chairman of the club is an old crested pelican, who, by 
some oversight, has never been provided with a private name of his own, I think he should 
be called Peter, because he can take such a miraculous draught of fishes. It is a draught ; 

you know — a pelican doesn't eat fishes— he drinks them down in 
bulk. For Peter, a dozen or so fresh herrings is a mere swill 
round of the mouth. 

Peter walks about the club premises with much 
dignity, deferred to on all sides by the other mem- 
bers* His kingship is rarely disputed, having 
been achieved by the sort of conquest most 
familiar in the pelican club ; and his divine 
right is as much respected as his tremendous left, 
A pelican never bears malice ; he hasn't 
time, especially now, with competition so keen 
in the fish business, and Church's fish pails 
only of the ordinary size. There is never any 
ill-feeling after a little spar, and each proceeds, 
in the most amicable way, to steal some other 
pelican's fish. A spar at this club, by-the-bye, 

is a joyous and hilarious sight. Two 
big birds with stumpy legs and 
top-heavy beaks, solemnly pranc- 
ing and manoeuvring before one 
another with an accompaniment of 
valiant gobbles and a punctuation 
of occasional pecks — a 
gleesome spectacle. 

Another sport much 
exhibited at the peli- 
can club is that of 
the broadsword. The 
school of fence is 
that of Mr. Vincent 
Crummies --one — 
two « — three — four — 
over; one two— three 
— fo ur — on d er. V o u 


Original from 




see, when a dozen or two birds with beaks a couple 
of feet long or so get together in a small area, and 
now and again rush all in the same direction for 
fish, fencing is certain to develop, sooner or later- 
So here you have it, secundum a ri 'em— one— two 
— three— four — over ; one — two — 
three — four — under ; and although 
none have yet attained the Crurnm- 
leian degree of knocking out 
sparks, there is a deal of hollow 
noise, as of thumping on a wooden 
box. But there is never any after- 
malice, and in less than five minutes 

either combatant will swallow a fish rightfully- 
belonging to the other, with perfect affability. 

There is a good deal of the philosopher about 
the pelican, and of a more genuine sort than cha- 
racterizes the stork. The pelican always makes 
the best of a bad job, without going into an un- 
necessary tantrum over it. If another member of 

the club snatches a fish i 
the pelican doesn't bother, 
devotes his attention to 
next that Church throws ; a fish in the pouch 
worth a shoal in somebody else's. Now 
again Peter loses his temper for a moment if 
others catch the first snack, and lays about 
with his bill — but then, when a fellow's chairman 
and a lot of other fellows come snatching 
lunch from under his nose why, hang it all, 
know . . , But it is only for a moment, 
and Peter is soon in position for the 
next pouchful. He is artful about 
this position. When Church appears 
at the rails with a pailful of fish most of 
the members rush to those rails, jostle 
together and shove their beaks through 
them and over them — any way to get 
nearer the paii But the chairman 



knows very well that Church doesn't throw 
the fish outside the rails, but into the inclo- 
sure, somewhere near the middle ; and near 
the middle the sagacious Peter waits, to 
his early profit — unless Church is 
unusually slow about throwing the fish, 
in which case Peter is apt to let his 
excitement steal his sagacity, and to 
rush into the pell-mell, anxious to in- 
vestigate the delay. 

There is a deal of excellent wear in 
a pelican. One has been here about 
thirty years, and two more have been 
established on the same premises for a 
quarter of a century. All these three are 
in capital working repair and will probably 
lastj with a patch or two, and a little sole- 
ing and heeling, for a century or two more ; 
no respectable pelican is ever howled out for 
less than three figures. 

In the winter the club takes up its 
quarters in the shed behind the inclosure ; a 


shed sumptuously furnished with cer- 
tain benches and forms, whereon the 
club stands in rows, with a general 
appearance of a number of very 
solemn naughty boys in a Board 
school. In winter^ too, Church will 
often put his bucketful of fish on 
the ground, so that the club may 
dine in a clubbier way. But whether 
you watch this club feeding 
together from the pail, each 
member doing his best to put 
away the whole pailful at a 
gulp, or whether you observe 
them playing a sort of greedy 
game of lacrosse with fish 
which Church throws them, you will be equally amazed that the pelican was used as a 
symbol of chanty and brotherly love in early and middle Christian art. 

I have seen a pelican enact a most instructive moral lesson at a pail-dinner. Observe 
the bill and pouch of a pelican. 
The pouch is an elastic fishing- 
net, and the lower mandible is 

a mere flexible frame to carry' to- I 

it Now, I have M Wjsf^fiffi 

observed a pelican 
to make a bounce 
at the fish-pail, 
with outspread wings, and 
scoop the whole supply. 
But then his trouble 
began. The whole catch 
hung weightily low in the 
end of the pouch, and 
jerk and heave as he 
might, he could never lift 
the load at the end of that 






long beak sufficiently high 
to bolt it. Meanwhile, his 
friends collected about him and remonstrated, with 
many flops and gobbles, betting him all his fish to nothing that 
he would lose it after all ; this way they chased that bag, and 
that way, while the bagger, in much trepidation and with many 
desperate heaves, wildly sought remote 
corners away from his persecutors* Now, 
by the corner of the club premises stands 
an appliance , the emblem of authority, the 
instrument of justice^ and the terror of the 
evilly-disposed pelican — a birch-broom. 
This, brandished in the hands of Church, 
caused a sudden and awful collapse of the 
drag-nets, an opening, a shower of fish 
and many snaps ; wherefrom walked away 
many pelicans with fish, and one with 
none, who had looked to take all The 
moral is plain to the verge of ugliness, 
A pelican has no tongue — or none to 
speak of. It is a mere little 
knob scarcely the size of a 
cherry* The long, long medi- 
tations of the pelican (lasting 
between feeding times) are 
given up to consideration 
whether or not the disgrace of 
this deficiency is counter- 
balanced by the greater capa- 
city for fish which it gives the 
povch. After all, it is only 
another instance of that com^ 

mercial honesty which makes the 
pelican pay for his beak out of 
his legs ; he gives his tongue for 
a pouch. Th<ire should be a 
legend of the pelican applying 
honestly to Adam to buy a 
pouch, and the wily stork wait- 
ing and waiting on the chance 
of snatching one without paying 
for it, until all had been served 
out ; afterwards living all its life 



3 57 

un earth in covetous dud- 
ftcon, unconsoled by lis 

wealth of beak, It^s, wings, 
and neck, and pining hope- 
lessly for the lost pouch. 
There are many legends of 
this sort which ought m 
exist, hut don't, owing to 
the negligence of Indian 
solar myth merchants, or 
whoever it is has charge of 
that class of misrepresenta- 

The pelican can fly, 
although you would never 
believe it, to look at the club 
members here* To a Zoo 
pelican a flight of two feet 
is an undertaking to be 
approached with much 
circumspection and prepara- 
tion, and a summoning of 
resolution and screwing of 
courage proper to the mag- 
nitude of the feat. It takes 
a long time to learn to fly 
on to a bnttom-up bucket 
The Zoo pelican begins on 

a shadow— not a very dark 
one at first — and works his 
way up by jumping over 
darker shadows to straws 
and pebbles, before he tries 
a bucket, The accom- 
plished bucket -jumper 
makes a long preliminary 
survey and circumnaviga- 
tion of his bucket before per- 
forming, and when he does 
begin it is with a number of 
wild rushes and 1 it. solute 
Stops. When at last he 
gets the proper length of 
run, and the right foot in 
front, and doesn't see any- 
thing to baulk him, he rises 
with a great effort, and all 
the lookers-on who don't 
know him stare up over the 
trees, and are astonished to 
find him, after all, only on 
the bucket. His pinions 
are tut, poor fellow ! If 
they were not, what would 
become uf the fishmongers' 
shop-, ? 


Original from 

V^l V.-34, 

Shafts pom an Eastern Quiver. 


By Ciiarlks J, Mansford, B.A, 

L pilgrims on their way to the mighty Shway 

Dagohn pagoda. Thence we journeyed up 
the Irawaddy, and having duly paid 
reverence to some of the nine thousand nine 
hundred and ninety-nine pagodas of Pagan— 
the outcast slaves of which city seemed a 
strange contrast to its otherwise absolute 
desertion— we continued our journey by 

■ * .yw ^ 

HE fine points of an elephant, 
sahib," said our guide Hassan, 
u are a colour approaching to 
white, the nails perfectly 
black, and an intact tail," 
" I am glad to hear that 
an elephant has some qualities which i\ com- 
mend it/' said Denviers, good- 
humouredty* **I should think that 
the one upon which we are riding in 
about as lazy as it h possible to be. 
I suppose slowness is an unusually 
good point, isn't it, Hassan ? " Tin 
Arab, who was sitting before us on 
the elephant, gave it a stir with the 
sharply-pointed spear which he iu-M 
i it his hand to urge it on, and then 
glancing back at us, as we reclined 
lazily in the cushioned howdah, 
he said inquiringly: "Are the 
sahibs tired already of travelling 
thus? Yet we have fully 
hours 1 journey before us." 

lb Hassan," I interposed, 
"this is a good opportunity 
for you to ttrll us exactly 
what yuu heard about that 
Maw-Suva h when we were 
at Bharno. It is in conse- 
quence of that, indeed, that 
we are going to try to get 
among these strange Ka- 
chyens ; but as we are not 
quite sure of the details, you 
may as well repeat them," 

u The sahib shall be 
obeyed," responded our 
guide, and although careful 
to keep a good watch in 
front, he turned his body 
slightly towards us as he pre- 
pared to begin the narrative, 

On reaching Burmah we stayed for several 
days in Rangoon, the Queen of the East as it 
i> called nowadays, although only remarkable 
formerly for its famous monasteries of Tala- 
poins and as a halting-place for the bands of 


steamer as far as Mandalay. Having endured 
the doubtful pleasure of a jaunt in a seatless, 
jolting buJloOL-carriage the bruises from 
whicfllW^l^tU^ eventu- 

ally reached Bhamo, where Hassan entered 



into conversation with a hill-man. From the 
latter he learnt a strange story, which was 
later on told to us and the truth of which we 
hoped before long to fully test, for soon after- 
wards we set out on an elephant, our faithful 
guide in this new adventure again proving 
himself of the greatest service. 

" Now, Hassan, 5 ' said Denviers, " we are 
quite ready to hear this story fully, but don't 
add any imaginary details "of your own.'' 

" By the Koran, sahib," began the Arab, 
" these are the words which were those of him 
to whom I spoke under the shade of the log 

"Which are, of course, unimpeachable," 
responded Denviers. " Anyone could tell that 
from his shifty eyes, w r hich failed to rest upon 
us fixed even for a minute when we spoke to 
him afterwards." The Arab seemed a little 
disconcerted at this, but soon continued : - 

" The great Spirits or Nats, who guard the 
prosperity of Burmah, have become greatly 
incensed with the Kachyens, not because 
they failed to resist stoutly when the monarch 
was deposed a few years ago " 

"Then we are to have a modern story, 
this time, Hassan?" interrupted Denviers. "I 
quite expected that you would commence 
with some long worn-out tradition." 

"The sahibs shall hear," the Arab went 
on. " No one who offends the Nats of 
Burmah .need expect anything but evil to 
follow. There are the Nats of the sky, the 
Nats of the earth, the Nats of the Irawaddy, 
the Nats of the five hundred little rivers, and 
the thousand Nats which guarded the sacred 
person of the monarch " 

" Yes, Hassan," said Denviers, impatiently, 
"you mentioned them all before. We haven't 
time to hear the list enumerated now ; go on 
about this one particular Nat which you say 
is causing such havoc among the hill-tribes." 

" Patience, sahib. The Nats were justly 
roused to anger because the deposed monarch 
was not afterwards taken to the water's edge 
riding upon an elephant instead of in a 

"Well, Hassan," said Denviers, "judging 
from our own experience the Nats seem to be 
pretty sensible, I must say — but how do they 
affect the peace of mind of the Kachyens ? " 

"Listen, sahib. High among the hills 
which may be seen stretching before us lies 
a village in which many of the Kachyens 
dwell, their occupation being sometimes that 
of tillers of the land, but more often con- 
sisting in planning and carrying out raids 
upon other hill-men, or of descending at 
times to the plains, and there looting the 

towns wherein dwell more peaceable tribes. 
In all their forays they had been successful, 
for whenever their trusty dahs or swords 
were drawn, those who opposed them invari- 
ably obtained the worst of the encounter. 
So powerful did they become that at la^t 
those dwelling in the plains — Shans, Karenns, 
and Talaings, too — made no resistance 
against their attacks ; and when they saw the 
produce of their fields carried away, thought 
themselves happy not to have been slain. 
The reason why the Kachyens became so 
successful in all they undertook was that a 
powerful forest Nat placed them under its 
protection, and hence they could not be 
harmed by their foes. 

" Now it chanced that the King was in 
great danger through following the advice of 
his impetuous ministers, whereupon he 
summoned the Kachyens to his assistance — 
for their fame as warriors had reached his 
ears long before. But they, confident of 
securing their own safety whatever happened 
to the monarch, refused to obey his com- 
mand to march against the Burman foes. 
The consequence was that when the indignity 
which I have mentioned was offered to the 
deposed monarch, the Nats throughout 
Burmah were furious with that one who ruled 
the village in which the Kachyens dwelt, and 
they sent some of their number to destroy it. 
The latter, however, appeased them by 
making a grim promise, which has been only 
too faithfully kept. 

" A few days afterwards a hill-man, who 
was clearing a part of the land on the woody 
slope cf the height, saw the Nat, which had 
never before been visible, and, terrified at 
the strange form which it had assumed, he 
ran hastily to the rest of the tribe, and, 
gathering them together, held a consultation 
as to what should be done to appease it. 
Some suggested that upon every tree trunk 
should be scratched appealing messages, 
which the Nat might read ; others were in 
favour of placing a huge heap of spears and 
swords near the spot where the embodied 
Nat had been seen in order that it might 
be tempted to destroy all those who 
urged it to injure them. The messages and 
weapons, howe\er, when placed for the Nat 
to observe did no good, for one dreadful 
night a ~attling was heard of the bamboos 
which lay before one of the Kachyen's huts, 
and the man, going hastily to see what 
caused ftrj^ASapyiftly carried away in the 
darkness without apparently uttering a single 
cry ! For many nights in succession a 
similar scene was enacted, for he at w T hos 



door the dire summons came dared not 
refuse to answer it lest the whole household 
might perish. 

"Nothing more was ever seen of those 
thus strangely carried off, and the Kachyens, 
each of whom feared that his own end might 
come next, determined to consult some 
famous Ruddhist priests who dwelt not far 
from them, and who held charge over the 
famous mar! ile slabs which the great War 
Prince of Burmah had caused to be engraved 
concerning their illustrious traditions The 
man whom ye saw me conversing with by 

the Stockade was the one whom the tribe 
intrusted with the task : but the priests, after 
much consideration among themselves of the 
object of his visit, refused to have anything 
to do with such a tragic affair, and thereupon 
dismissed their suppliant. 

"This Kachyen, when sorrowfully return- 
ing towards the hills, fearing that the tribe 
would destroy him because of his non-success, 
chanced to meet on his way a Mogul, to 
whom he repeated the story. The" latter, 
laying his hand on his red-dyed and fierce- 
looking beard, advised the Kachycn to enter 
a hole in the mountain side and to consult a 
famous Maw-Sayah, or juggler, who dwelt 
there, This juggler promised assistance if 
the tribe would pay him a *reat reward in 

the event of his success, and when they 
agreed to this he entered the village and 
waited for dusk to arrive Again the dread- 
ful rattling was heard l and another Kaehyen 
stepped out to meet his fale. None of the 
tribe dared to look at what transpired, except 
the juggler, and he too disappeared \ The 
next morning, however, he came into t he- 
village and called its inhabitants together* 
When they had solemnly agreed to his con- 
ditions, he stated that the Nat was bent upon 
destroying them all and that to attempt to 
escape by means of flight would only lead to 

quicker death. Then 
he told them what 
the result of his in- 
tercession for them 
had been, 

"The Nat had 
been persuaded to 
destroy only one vic- 
tim on each seventh 
evening at dusk, and 
had appointed him 
to see that certain 
conditions were not 
broken. He was to 
have a hdt at his 
disposal, and into 
this the men were 
to go by lot j and 
thus the Nat would 
obtain a victim when 
the time came round. 
They were forbidden 
to wander about after 
sunset, and whatever 
noises were made 
not to hearken to 
them, since the Maw- 
Sayah would see 
that the others were 
unharmed. So long had this dreadful 
destruction lasted that more than one-half of 
the men in the Kachyen village, or town, as 
it might well be called from the large number 
who inhabited it, had perished, and yet the 
Nat still demanded a victim, and the Maw- 
Sayah is there to see that the compact is 
fulfilled. The man who told this story, 
sahibs, declares that the keeper of the Nat 
has by this means obtained sway over the 
Kachyens to such an extent that they have 
become his abject slaves, for the custom of 
drawing lots has been abolished, and he 
selects whorn he. will to sacrifice to the Nat. 
By some m^ftS'Wis^Kathyen offended the 
Maw Sa\UtljlAN^Imrrap&ncond«emned him, 
but lie, in terror of the sudden and silent 



death in store for him, fied to Bhamo, where 
he lives in momentary fear of destruction. 
Such then, sahibs, is the story, and it is to 
.see this Maw-Sayah and the Nat at their fell 
work tonight that t-ven now our faces an- 
turned to the high land before us, up which 
wo must climbj for there is but one narrow 
pathway leading to the village/ 1 

Hass-in ceased, and then Denviers turned 
to me as he said :- 

u I think that this Maw-Sayah, as Hassan 
falls him, has about as much faith hi Nats as 
we have. It suits his purpose to league him 
self with something mysterious; whatever it 
is we will try to find out," and he glanced at 
the weapons which we carried, 


"The sahibs must dismount here," said 
Hassan shortly afterwards, and following to 1 
the ground our guide, we began to climb the 
mountain path which stretched before us. 
The ascent was exceedingly steep, and several 
times we stopped to rest after push- 
ing our way through the tangled 
masses which almost hid the path, 
which was itself cut here and there 
apparently through the rocky strata. 
When we had reached about three- 
fourths of our journey Hassan stopped 
and pointed out to us one of 
the thatched roofs of a hut, 
which seemed in the distance 
scarcely noticeable until his 
keen eyesight discovered it. 
The village, we found, lay a 
little to the left of the mountain 
path, for on nearing the summit 
we found ourselves passing 
through a peculiar avenue of 
trees interspersed with long 
bamboo poles. From the tops 
of the latter there were stretched 
across the approach strong, 
rough-looking cords, which sup- 
ported various uncouth em- 
blems, and among which 
were large triangles, circles, 
and stars, cut apparently out of the stems of 
huge bamboos, After traversing this avenue 
for nearly three hundred yards we saw the 
tree trunks which Hassan had mentioned, and 
which were deeply scarred with cabalistic 
messages to the fierce Nat, which we could 
not of course understand, Affixed to some 
of the trees farther on we saw a number of 
spears and dahs mingled with rhorteKvft^WX 
the latter being made of some species of 
hard wood, and close to them we observed 

the skulls of several large animals, oie of 
which we judged was that of an elephant. 

In spite of the fact that the village was a 
large one, the buildings were of a very 
primitive construction, being made of Lam- 
boos with thatched coverings, reaching almost 
to the piles on which the huts were placed. 
We did not observe any openings made to 
serve as windows, the only ones noticeable 
being those by 
which the Ka- 
chyens entered, 
placed above a 
bamboo ladder, 
which seemed to 
serve instead of 
steps. Although 
the sun had 

scarcely set t the village was wrapped in 
a strange silence, the sound of our footsteps 
alone being heard. The smoke that seemed 
to be forcing its way through stray holes in the 
thatch amply convinced us, however, that the 
inhabitants were within doors, anci, turning 
to our Arab guide, I asked him if he could 

distinguish >^nRf)iSaT^lf¥d rW n ^ ^ uls ^ le one ' J1 
which wttjiew^uu-^^ Maw-Sayah + 

He seenM 'ffM^BitfMfil at first, but after 
wandering through the village together we 



returned, and then Hassan, who had been 
very observant the whole time, pointed to 
one of the rudely-constructed huts and 
said: — 

"I think that is the one into which we 
seek to enter ; it is situated according to the 
position in which the Kachyen said it was, 
and, besides, it bears a strange proof of the 
story which ye have listened to with such ill- 
concealed disbelief." 

" Why do you think that is the hut, 
Hassan?" I asked, for, to my eyes, no dif- 
ference between that and the others close to 
it was distinguishable. 

*' If the sahib will look at the bamboo 
ladder and observe it carefully, he will see 
that it is unlike the others round," said the 

"I suppose you refer to these deep 
scratches upon it, don't you, Hassan ? " asked 
Denviers, as he pointed to some marks, a 
few of which were apparently fairly recent. 

"The sahib guesses rightly," answered our 
guide. " You will remember that the 
Kachyen stated to me that the Nat is 
accustomed to obtain its victim now from the 
abode of the Maw-Sayah ; those marks, then, 
have been made by it when it dragged its 
human prey out of the hut." We gazed 
curiously at the marks for a few minutes, 
then Denviers broke the silence by asking 
the Arab why it was that the Nat made 
marks at all. 

" I should have thought that such a power- 
ful spirit could prevent such evidences of its 
presence becoming observed," he continued. 
"My respect fork is certainly not increased 
by seeing those deep scars ; they seem to be 
made by something which has sharp claws." 

"That is because of the shape which it 
has assumed, sahib," said the Arab, "for the 
Nats have wondrous powers — -" 

"Very likely, Hassan," interposed Den- 
viers ; " I suppose they can do exactly what 
they like, can they not ? " I was much 
surprised at the limit which was, however, 
placed upon their powers by our guide, for 
he responded quickly : — 

" Not altogether, sahib. There is one thiny 
that a Nat cannot do, according to the 
reports of these Kachyens, and that is, they 
are unable to move in a direction which is 
not straight, and hence they are careful to 
avoid rough ground, where tangled masses 
and boulders bar their progress, so they 
usually frequent the open avenues, such as 
the one which we have just passed through. 
The symbols above it and the writings and 

capons are all for the Nat's benefit." 

"And the elephant's skull?" asked Denviers, 
irreverently. "What is that put up for?" 
The Arab, however, had an explanation 
ready, for he promptly replied : — 

"That indicates where the supplies of 
food are to be found when the Nat requires 
any." Denviers turned to me for a moment 
as he said : — 

" I should have thought it a good plan, 
then, to have put it upon the hut of this 
Maw-Sayah whom we are about to interview. ^ 
See that your weapons are in good order, " 
Harold, we may soon need them." Giving 
a cautious look at my belt and the weapons 
thrust into it, I followed Denviers, who had 
mounted the short bamboo ladder, and was 
endeavouring to obtain admission to the hut 
We heard a harsh sound within, then the 
cry of someone apparently terror-stricken, 
and a moment afterwards we had pushed 
past the Maw-Sayah, who by no means 
was willing to allow us to enter the rude 

The single room, which seemed to consti- 
tute the hut, was extremely low and bare of 
furniture entirely. A few bamboos were 
spread in one part of it, while at the far end 
was a fire, the light from which was partly 
obscured by the smoke, which almost suffo- 
cated us, so thickly did it roll up and then 
spread through the hut. Near the door 
stood a man scarcely clothed, upon whose 
face we saw a look of the most abject terror, 
for, as we surmised, the noise of our entry 
was mistaken by him for the approach of the 
fell thing to which he was condemned by the 
Maw-Sayah. W r e moved towards the latter as 
he threw himself down by the fire, which he 
had only left to see who it was that came un- 
bidden to the hut where to enter was the 
preceding event to death. He was clothed 
in a long blue strip of linen, which wound 
round his waist and covered his body, partly 
leaving his dark chest uncovered. His 
features were stamped with an appearance of 
supreme cunning, his oblique eyes reminding 
us of a Chinaman, while the fierce look in 
them as they glared at us from either side of 
an aquiline nose, which betrayed his Burmese 
descent, did not increase our confidence in 
the man as he stretched out "his bony hands 
over the fire as if for warmth, although out- 
side the hut we had found the heat almost 

"What do ye seek?" he demanded, as he 
looked into our faces in turn and seemed 
astonished vt our strange features. 

"We are travellers who wished to see a 
Kachyen village," responded Denviers, " and 



we further desired to see some of its inhabi- 
tants ; but as none were visible we entered 
this hut, even against your will. Where are 
the people who dwell here ? " The man 
whom my companion addressed pointed to the 
Kachyen near the door- 
way, as he responded: — 

41 There is one of them, 
and in a short time 
even he will never be 
seen again." 

u Can you give us 
food ? " hazarded Hassan, 
in order to get the man 
to continue his con versa 
t i on, for the 
Arab evidently 
was expecting 
that the Nat 
would soon ar- 
rive upon the 
scene. The 
Maw -Say ah rose 
and pointed to m 
the entrance as 
he cried: — 

"That way 
ye came, that 
way shall ye de- 
part. Food for 
ye I have not, 

nor would I give it if I had/' I turned to 
Denviers and said in a low tone : — 

"What shall we do, Frank? I don't 
think our opportunity of seeing what may 
transpire will be as good within the hut as 
without it. Whatever the solution is to this 
affair, if we are outside we shall see this 
Kachyen dragged away, and may further 
watch the approach of whatever caused 
those Strang marks which we observed." 

il One thing is clear," said rny companion, 
*' we will attempt to save this intended victim, 
at all events. I expect that if we tried we 
could get him away easily enough, hut that 
plan would not be of much service, We must 
attack this being, whatever it is, with which 
this Maw-Sayah is leagued* How I should 
like to hand him over as a victim instead 
of that trembling captive by the doon 
It shows to what extent this juggler has 
acquired power over this tribe, for I 
notice that his captive is unbound, and 
is certainly a much finer built man than 
the other/' 

" It wants less than an hour to dusk, 
sahibs/' said Hassan, who had listened 
carefully to our remarks ; "if we were to 
Station ourselves a little away from the hut 

we could see what took place, and if the Nat 
were mortal we might attack it" 

Denviers shrugged his shoulders at the 
Arab's supposition as he re- 
sponded : — 


"There is little doubt, Hassan, that the Nat 
would smart if that keen blade of yours went 
a little too near it, but I think your plan is a 
good one, and we will adopt it, as it falls in 
with what has already been said." We 
gave a final look at the crafty face of 
the man who was still seated by the fire, 
and then brushing past the captive we made 
for the open village again. 

11 I feel sorry for this Kachyen/* said 
Denviers. "He will have a dreadful five 
minutes of it, I expect ; but it is our only 
way of preventing, if possible, such an affair 
from occurring again," On leaving the hut 
we stationed ourselves almost opposite to it, 
and then began to keep watch. What we 
should see pass up the avenue we could only 
surmise, but our suppositions certainly did 
not lead us to imagine in the faintest degree 
the sight which before long was destined to 
completely startle us. 


The grey dusk was becoming night when 
among the dar^|^fp^ of the trees we saw 

over the bamboo logs and made a rasping 



noise as it clung to the ladder, The door of 
the hut yielded to it, and a minute after it 
again emerged and bore with it the terrified 
Kachyen. We crept after it as it dragged 

it At:.-\i \. r'lirki ,1 i>. 

its captive clown the avenue, striving out 
utmost to make out its shape. One thing 
we could tell, which was that the creature 
was not upright ; hut our movement behind 
it was apparently known, for it struggled to 
move quicker over the ground with its human 

11 Shall I shoot it?" I whispered to Den- 
viers, as my nerves seemed to be almost 
unstrung at the unknowableness of the creep- 
ing thing. 

14 You would more likely kill the man/* he 
responded. "Follow as noiselessly as you 
can — it will not let its prey escape, he sure of 
that. Once we track it to its haunt we will 
boon dispatch it, big and fierce as it seems/ 

We drew nearer and nearer to it. until it 
had passed half-way down the avenue, then 
it seemed to became lost to our view, 
although we were, as we knew, close tp it. 
I felt Denviers' hand upon my ilQiilSfeiland 

then he whispered 

(L The Kachyen is being dragged up a tree 
just in front — look ! " I could just distinguish 
something moving up the trunk, when suddenly 
the captive, who had hitherto been apparently 
paralyzed with terror, uttered a 
cry and then must have suc- 
ceeded in disengaging himself 
from the dreadful thing that had 
held him, for the noise of some 
one falling to the ground was 
heard, and \\ minute after we 
distinguished the form of a man 
rushing headlong hack to the 
village for safety* 

We did not anticipate such an 
event, and were contemplating a 
search for the captor of the Ka- 
chyen, when a cold sweat broke 
out upon nii\ for the clammy 
claws of the ma n< hunter had 
touched me : The sensation 
which seized me was only of 
short duration, for I felt myself 
released just as Henviers said : — 
ik Harold, the Kachyen has 
lied, and his captor, determined 
to secure its prey, has betaken 
its crawling body after him. If 
only we had a light ? I saw 
something like n black shadow 
moving onwards ; get your pistol 
ready and follow.'' [ just distin- 
guished Denviers as he passed 
on in front of me, Hassan 
coming last When we reached 
l he tuit mI the Maw -Savah we 
stop] ted at once, for, from 
the cry which came from it, we rightly 
surmised that the terrible seeker for human 
prey had made for this place, thinking, 
in its dull intelligence, that iLs captive 
had returned. We thrust ourselves into the 
hut, and saw by the red firelight a sanguinary 
contest between tin; Maw-Sayah and the black 
object which we had endeavoured to track. 
Thinking that the Kachyen was being de- 
stroyed, the juggler had not fastened hisdoor, 
and the enraged man-eater had seized him 
as he rested on the ground, quite at its 
mercy ! 

The Maw-Sayah was struggling with his 
bony hands to extricate himself from tht 
clutches of a monstrous tree-spider! We 
had seen, on an island in the South Seas, 
several cocoa-nut crabs, and this reptile some- 
what resembled them, but was even larger. 
Grasping the juggler with several of its long, 
fany-loc^^ red eyes 

in mad anger upon him as he grasped in each 



hand one of its front pair of legs, which were 
armed with strong, heavy-looking pincers. 
He besought us wildly to shoot, even if we 
killed him, held as he was by his relentless 

11 Harold," cried my companion, " keep 
clear, and look out for yourself when I fire at 
this reptile j most Hkely it will make for one 
of us." He drew right close to it, and thrust- 

his self-command, I turned to the Maw-Sayah 
and asked : — 

'* If we spare your life, will you promise to 
leave this village and never to return ? " He 
turned his evil-looking but scared face to- 
wards us eagerly as he replied : — 

"I will do whatever you wish." Denviers 
motioned to him to rest upon the ground, 
which he did, then turning to me, said : — 


ing the barrel of his pistol between its eyes 
touched the trigger. The explosion shook 
the hut, its effect upon the spider being to 
cause it to rush frantically about the floor, 
dragging the Maw-Sayah as if he were some 
slight burden scarcely observable* 

"You missed it I " I cried. "Look out, 
Hassan, guard the doorway ! " The Arab 
stood, sword in hand, waiting for it to make 
for the entrance, while Denviers exclaimed: — 

" I shot it through the head ! " and a 
minute afterwards the trueness of his aim 
was manifest, for the claws released, and the 
Maw-Sayah, wounded badly, but saved, stood 
free from the muscular twitchings of the 
dead spider. 

"You scoundrel!" said Denviers to him, 
"I have a good mind to serve you the same. 
You deserve to die as so many of these simple- 
minded, credulous Kachyens have done." 
I thought for one brief second that my 
companion was about to kill the juggle^ for 
through all our adventures I had never seen 
him so thoroughly roused, I stood between 
them; t he n, when Denviers quickly recovered 

" It is pretty apparent what this juggler 
has done. The man who first reported the 
discovery of this Nat, as the foolish Ka- 
chyens call it, simply disturbed a monstrous 
spider which had lived in the trees which he 
felled— that accounts for his seeing it. Find- 
ing animal food scarce, the reptile ventured 
into this village and tried to get into one 
of the huts. Its exertions were rewarded by 
the Kachyen coming to the door, whom it 
accordingly seized. To continue its plan, 
which proved so successful, needed very 
little reasoning poweT on the part of such a 
cunning creature. No doubt this Maw-Sayah 
purposely left the door of his hut unfastened 
each seventh night, and the spider thus 
became accustomed to seek for its victim 
there. I daresay it came the other nights, 
but the juggler was then careful enough to 
keep his hut well fastened." 

4t What do the sahibs propose to do ? " 
interrupted Hassan* Denviers turned to 
him, as he responded : — 

"We will wait for daybreak ; then, having 
ecnPMtfMffltfE spider out where the 

Vol v,-35, 




K achy ens may see that it is no longer able 
to harm them, we will take this Maw-Sayah 
down the mountain path away from the 
village as poor as he came." 

u A good plan/" I assented, and we fol- 
lowed it out, eventually leaving the 
juggler, and climbing once more into 

We entered Bhamo, and while we took a 
much-needed rest } our guide — as we after- 
wards learnt — searched for and found the 


the howdah upon the elephant, which we 
found close to the spot where we had left 
it, secured from wandering far away by the 
rope which Hassan had used to hinder its 

fugitive Kachyen, who, on hearing that his 
safety was secured, hastily departed to the 
village to rejoice with the rest of his tribe 
that the so-called Nat would not do them 
any more injury. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 





is thirteen years since a 
new Parliament last blithely 
started on its way with Mr. 
Gladstone sitting in the seat 
of the Premier, Since March, 
1880, a great deal has happened, 
the change of circumstances 
the business of the House 
The majority 

not least in 
under which 

of Commons is conducted, 
of the House of Commons may be Liberal 
or Conservative, according to a passing flood 
of conviction on the part of the constituencies. 
When presumptuous hands are stretched forth 
to touch the Ark of its procedure, its instincts 
are all Tory* tor more than two hundred 
years preceding the advent of a Tory 
Ministry in 1886, this was so. Mr, Gladstone, 
driven to desperation in the second Session 
of the Parliament of 1880-5, endeavoured to 
reform procedure so that obstruction might 
be fought on even terms. He was met by 
such resolute and persistent opposition from 
the Conservative side that, even with an over- 
whelming majority at his back, he succeeded 
only in tinkering the pot Oddly enough, it 
was left for the Conservatives when they came 
into office to revolutionize the system upon 
which, through the ages, Parliamentary 
business had been carried on. 

There was nothing in the reforms more 
startling to the old Parliamentarian than the 
proposal automatically to close debate at 
midnight A dozen years ago members of 
the House of Commons assembled at four 
o'clock for prayers. Questions began at 
half-past four, and no one could say at what 

hour of the night or of the next morning 
the cry "Who goes home?" might echo 
through the lobby. In those days Mr. 
O'DonnelL was master of the situation, and 
he had many imitators* A debate carried on 
through several nights might seem to be 
approaching a conclusion. The Leader of the 
Opposition, rising between eleven o'clock 
and midnight, spoke in a crowded House. 
The Premier, or his lieutenant, followed, 
assuming to wind up the debate. Members 
wearied of the long sitting were prepared to 
go forth to the division lobby ; when from 
below the gangway on the left there uprose 
a familiar figure, and there was heard a well- 
known voice. 

These usually belonged to Mr, O'Donnetl 

Indiana \mmu 



bent upon vindicating the right of a private 
member to interpose when the constituted 
authorities of the House had agreed in the 
opinion that a debate had been continued 
long enough. A roar of execration from 
the fagged legislators greeted the intruder. 
He expected this, and was in no degree 
perturbed. In earliest practice he had a 
way of dropping his eye-glass as if startled 
by the uproar, and searched for it with 
puzzled, preoccupied expression, apparently 
debating with himself what this outburst 
might portend. He did not love the British 
House of Commons, and delighted in thwart- 
ing its purposes. But he knew what was 
due to it in the way of respect, and, however 
angry passions might rise, however turbulent 
the scene, he would never address it looking 
upon it with the naked eye. As his eye- 
glass was constantly tumbling out, and as 

search for it 
was preter- 
naturally de- 
liberate, it 
played an 
part in the 
of successive 

What has 
become of 
Frank Hugh 
now, I won- 
der ? Va- 
nishing from 
the House 
of Commons, he reappeared for a while on 
the scene, characteristically acting the 
part of the petrel that heralded the storm 
Mr. Pigott ineffectively tried to ride. It 
must be a consolation to Mr, O'Donnell, in 
his retirement, wherever it is passed, to re- 
flect on the fact that it was he who directly 
brought about the appointment of the Parnell 
Commission, with all it effected- His action 
for libel brought against the Times preluded 
and inevitably led up to the formal investiga- 
tion of the famous Charges and Allegations, 
The member for Dungarvan was, in his day, 
the most thoroughly disliked man in the House 
of Commons, distaste for Mr. Parnell and for 
Mr Biggar in his early prime being softened 
by contrast with his subtler provocation. An 
exceedingly clever debater, he was a phrase 
maker, some of whose epigrams Mr, Disraeli 
would not have disowned. He was a parlia- 
mentary type of ancient standing, and 
apparently ineradicable growth. In the 



present House of Commons fresh develop- 
ments are presented by Mr, Seymour Keay 
and Mr. Morton, These are distinct varieties, 
but from the unmistakable root Both are 
gifted with boundless volubility, unhampered 
by ordinary considerations of coherency and 
cogency. Neither is influenced by that sense 
of the dread majesty of the House of Com- 
mons which keeps some members dumb all 
through their parliamentary life, and to the 
last, as in the case of Mr, Bright, weighs 
upon even great orators. The difference 
between the older and the new development 
is that whilst over Mr. 
Q'DonnelPs intentional 
and deliberate vacuity 
of speech there gleamed 
frequent flashes of wit, 
Mr, Morton and Mr. 
Keay are only occa- 
sionally funny, and 
then the effect was un- 

Since we have these 
two gentlemen stilt 
with us, it would be 
rash to say that if Mr. 
O'Donnell could revisit 
the glimpses of Big Ben 
he would find his occu- 
pation gone. He *vc uM 
certainly d|sw VN |#b S | TV 
his opportunities had „„. BEV mouk keav. 





been limited, and 
would have to re- 
commence prac- 
tice under greatly 
altered con- 
ditions. One of 
the former mem- 
ber for Dungar- 
van's famous 
achieve merits 
took place in the 
infancy of the Par- 
liament of 1880-5, 
and, apart from 
- its dramatic in- 
terest, is valuable 
as illustrating the 
change effected in 
parliamentary pro- 
cedure by the New 
Rules, On that 
particular June 
night the paper 
was loaded with 
questions in a 
fashion unfamiliar in the last Parliament, 
though there are not lacking signs of renewed 
activity since political parties changed places. 
Question No. 23 stood in the name of Mr. 
OT)onnell, and contained in his best literary 
style a serious indictment of M. Challemel- 
I.acour, just nominated by the French 
Government as their representative at the 
Court of St. James. 

Sir Charles Dilke, then Under-Secretary 
for Foreign Affairs, made categorical reply, 
directly traversing all the points in the indict- 
ment. When he resumed his seat Mr. 
OTJonnell rose in his usual deliberate manner, 
captured his eye-glass, and 
having fixed it to his satis- 
faction, remarked in his drawl- 
ing voice that it was "per- 
fectly impossible to accept 
the explanation of the Govern- 
ment" Being interrupted 
with cries of " Order ! Or- 
der ! " he quietly played his 
trump card : ** If I am not 
allowed to explain/' he said, 
" I will conclude with a 

The House howled again, 
but it was a cry of despair. 
Mr. O'Donnell, they knew, 
had the whip hand. In those 
good old days he, or any 
other member desiring to 
obstruct ordinary procedure, 

might, in the middle of questions, start 
a debate on any subject under the sun. 
This and other outrages were doubtless 
recalled by the House of Commons when 
revising its Rules. It then ordered that 
no member might, during the progress 
of questions, interpose with a motion on 
which to found debate. If, in this current 
month of March, Mr. O 'Don n ell, being 
a member of the House of Commons, 
had wanted to attack M. Challemel-Lacour, 
he must needs have waited till the last 
question on the paper was disposed of, and 
could then have moved the adjournment 
only if his description of the question as 
one of urgent public importance — was 
approved by the Speaker, and if, thereafter, 
forty members rose to support the request 
for a hearing. 

In June, 1880, all that was left for the 
crowded House to do was to roar with 
resentment Mr. O'Donnell was used to this 
incentive, and had it been withheld would 
probably have shown signs of failing vigour. 
As it was, he produced a pocket-handkerchief, 
took down his eye-glass and carefully polished 
it, whilst members yelled and tossed about 
on their seats with impotent fury. Under 
the existing Rules this scene, if it had ever 
opened, would have been promptly blotted 
out. The closure would have been moved, 
probably a division taken, and the business 
of the evening would have gone forward, 
There was no closure in those days, and 
Mr. Gladstone, after hurried consultation 
with Sir Erskine May, hastily moved that 
Mr. OT>onncll he not heard, 

A shout of savage exultation rising from 
every bench, save those on which the Irish 
members sat, hailed a stroke 
that promised to deliver the 
House from the thraldom of 
Mr. O'Donnell at the very 
moment when its chains had 
taken a final twist In ordinary 
circumstances this resolution 
would have played the part 
of the as yet un consecrated 
closure- A division would 
have followed, the motion 
carried by an overwhelming 
majority, and Mr. O'Donnell 
would have been temporarily 
shut up. 

But those were not ordinary 

times. The Fourth Party was 

OriqiriBl *k & prime of its vigour. 

INDrANAMER%^ doI P h Chmchiii's 

quick eye 

discovered an 



opening for irritating Mr Gladstone and 
damaging the Government by making what 
should have been a business night one long 
turmoil. Mr Parnell, whilst disclaiming 
any personal sympathy with Mr, O'Donnell, 
moved the adjournment of the debate, and 
poor, placid Sir Stafford Northcote, egged 
on by the young bloods below the gang- 
way, raised various points of order. Finally, 


at eight o'clock, the House dividing on Mr. 
Parnell's amendment. Sir Stafford North- 
cote voted with the Irish members, leading 
a hundred men of the Party of Law and 
Order into the same lobby. 

Hour after hour the riot continued. At 
one time blameless Sir William Har court, 
then Home Secretary, appearing at the table, 
a Conservative member, amid tumultuous 
shouts, moved that he be 
not heard. When members 
grew tired of shouting 
at each other they divided 
on fresh motions for the 
adjournment, and it was 
not till one o'clock on the 
following morning that Mr. 
G J Donnell, grateful for a 
pleasant evening, was good 
enough to undertake that 
before he recurred to the 
question he would give due 
notice, so that the Speaker 
might exercise his discretion 
in revising its terms. At 
five minutes past one in the 
morning, after a wrangle full 
eight hours long, the Speaker, 
with a pretty assumption of 

»g re .. 

nothing particular having happened, called 
on the next question on the paper, which 
was Number 24. 

All this might happen again on any 
night of this month save for the benefi- 
cent action of the New Rules a long- 
suffering Parliament was finally induced 
to adopt On the threshold of a new 
Parliament it is useful to recall the scene 
as an assistance in calculating what 
may be accomplished by the Parliament 
elected in 1892, as compared with that 
which began its history in 18S0. On 
the face of it, Parliament to-day has 
much less time at its disposal for the 
accomplishment of work than it had 
a dozen years ago. Then, the duration 
of a sitting was indefinite. The House 
might, as it did in February, 1881, meet 
at four o'clock on a Monday after- 
noon and sit continuously till Wednesday 
morning. Now, the Speaker takes the 
Chair at three o'clock ; public business 
commences at half- past three ; and at 
midnight, save in cases where the 
Standing Order has been formally sus- 
pended, the Speaker leaves the Chair, 
and the House adjourns, whoever may 
be on his feet. 

The influence of this automatic pro- 
cedure is beneficially felt throughout the 
whole of debate. One wholesome influ- 
ence works in the direction of using up 
the early hours of the sitting, an arrange- 
ment which carries comfort to countless 
printing offices and editorial sanctums. 
Some time before the New Rules came 
into operation, Mr. Gladstone discovered for 
himself the convenience and desirability 
of taking part in debate 
at the earliest possible 
hour of a sitting. His 
earlier associations drifted 
round a directly opposite 
course. In the good old 
days the champions of de- 
bate did not interpose till 
close upon midnight, when 
they had the advantage of 
audiences sustained and 
exhilarated by dinner. That 
was before the era of special 
wires to the provincial pa- 
pers, early morning trains, 
and vastly increased circu- 
lation for the London 
journals* Mr. Gladstone 


3f. , .discovered that he was more 
carefully reported and his 








■ ■ 


observations more deliberately discussed 
if he spoke between five and seven o'clock 
in the evening than if, following his curlier 
habit, he addressed the House between 
eleven and one in the morning. He has, 
accordingly, for some years been accustomed, 
when he has an important speech to deliver, 
to interpose in debate immediately after 

This habit has become general, even 
compulsory, with members who may, with- 
in certain limits, choose their own time 
for speaking, All the cream 
of debate is now skimmed be- 
fore the dinner-hour. At the 
close of a pitched battle, the 
two Leaders of Party, as here- 
tofore, wind up the debate. But 
their opportunity for orating is 
severely circumscribed. The au- 
dience in the House of Com- 
mons does not begin to re- 
assemble after dinner till half- 
past ten. Rising at that hour, 
the Leader of the Opposition, 
if he fairly divides the avail- 
able time with the right honour- 
able gentleman opposite, must 
not speak more than three- 
quarters of an hour, and should 
not exceed forty minutes. 

This is a necessity desirable 
not less in the orator's interest 
than in that of the audience. 
Except for the exposition of an 
intricate measure, twenty minutes 
is ample titM for any man to 
say what is useful for his fellow- 
men to hear. All Mr. Disraeli's 
best speeches were made within half an 
hour, and if he thought it necessary, 
from a sense of the importance of his 
position, to prolong them 3 his stock of 
good things was exhausted in twenty 
minutes, the rest being what Carlyle dis- 
respectfully described as thrice-boiled cole- 
wort Mr. Gladstone can go on indefi- 
nitely, and in very recent times has been 
known to hold his audience spell-bound 
for three hours* But even he has profited 
by the beneficent tyranny that now rules 
the limit of debate, and, rising with the 
knowledge that he has but forty minutes to 
speak in, has excelled himself. For less 
exuberant speakers not gifted with his genius, 
the new discipline is even more marked in 
its benefits. 

Digitized by "OOQ IC 

It is too soon to endeavour to estimate the 


general characteristics of the personnel of 
the new Parliament It will probably turn 
out to be very much of the same class 
as the innumerable army of its prede- 
cessors. When Mr- Keir Hardie came dow r n 
on the opening day in a wagonette, with 
flags flying and accordions playing, it was 
cried aloud in some quarters that the end 
was at hand- This apprehension was 
strengthened when Mr, Hardie strolled 
about the House with a tweed travelling 
cap on his head, the Speaker at the time 
being in the chair. This, as Dr. 
Johnson explained, when the lady 
asked him why he had described 
the horse's pastern as its knee, 
was "ignorance^ pure ignorance," 
Mr, Hardie is not a man of 
the quietest manners, as was testi- 
fied to by the apparition in Palace 
Yard of the wagonette and its 
musical party ; but in the much- 
talkedof incident of the cap he 
sinned inadvertently, Before the 
Speaker took the chair he had 
seen members walking about with 
their hats on. He had observed 
that even in his presence they 
remained seated with their heads 
covered. The shade of etiquette 
which approves this fashion 
w T hi!st it sternly prohibits a mem- 
ber from keeping his hat on when 
in motion, even to the extent of 
leaning over to speak to a friend 
on the bench below him, was too 
fine to catch the eye of a new 

Mr. Keir Hardie has done much 
worse things than this in his public appear- 
ances during the recess, and since the Session 
opened there has not been lacking evidence 
of resolve to keep himself in the front of the 
stage where the gallery may see him, But 
this is no new thing, to be cited in proof of 
the deterioration of the composition and style 
of the House of Commons, It has been 
done repeatedly in various fashions within 
recent memory, and always with the same 
result No man, not even Mr. Biggar — and 
he may be cited as the most ruthless experi- 
menter — has successfully struggled against the 
subtle disciplinary influence of the House 
of Commons* 

From the first the member for Cavan set 
himself in deliberate fashion to outrage Parlia- 
mentary tradi'tkins and usages. He finished 
by betNCMM^. *l NfliH&SW*!^* practitioner of 
Parliamentary forms, a stickler for the 



minutest observation of order. Whilst 
Mr. Gladstone and other members of old 
standing were content to preface their 
speeches with the monosyllable u Sir," 
nothing less than " Mr* Speaker, sir/' 
would satisfy Mr, Biggar. No one who has 


not heard the inflection of tone with which 
this was uttered, nor seen the oratorical sweep 
of the hand that launched it on its course, 
can realize how much of combined deference 
and authority the phrase is capable of Mr, 
Biggar, having in his early Parliamentary 
days defied the Chair and affronted the 
sensibilities of the House, alike in the matter 
of dress and deportment, developed into a 
portly gentleman of almost smug appearance, 
a terror to new members. Woe to any who 
in his ignorance passed between the Chair 
and the member addressing it ; who walked 
in from a division with his hat on ; or who 
stood an inch or two within the Bar whilst 
debate was going forward. Mr. Biggar' 5 
strident cry of M Order ! Order I" reverberated 
through the House. Others joined in the 
shout, and the abashed offender hastily 
withdrew into obscurity. 

It is the same with others of less strongly 
marked character. Vanity or garrulity may 
force a new member into a position of 
notoriety. He may, according to his measure 
of determination, try a fall again and again 
with the House, and may sometimes, as in 
the case of Mr, O'Donnell, seem to win. 
But in the end the House of Commons 
proves victorious. It is a sort of whetstone 
on which blades of various temperature 
operate. In time, they either forego the 
practice or wear themselves away. In either 
cane the whetstone remains. 

This is a rule without exception, and is a 
reassuring reflection in view of the talk about 
the degeneracy of the House of Commons, 
and the decadence of its standard of manner. 
It w F ould not be difficult to show that the 
^ouse at present in Session will, from the 

point of view of manners, favourably com- 
pare with any that have gone before — though, 
to be just, the comparison should be sought 
with Parliaments elected under similar con- 
ditions, with the Liberals in office and the 
Conservatives in opposition. That is an 
arrangement always found to be more con- 
ducive to lively proceedings than when 
parties are disposed in the contrary order. 
The Parliament dissolved last year was 
decorously dull. Mr. Gladstone in opposition 
is not prone to show sport, and no encourage- 
ment was held out to enterprising groups 
below the gangway to bait the Government 
It was very different in the Parliament of 
1880-5, of which fact the Challemel-Lacour 
episode is an illustration, only a little more 
piquant in flavour than the average supply. 

There are already signs that the new 
Parliament will not lie under the charge of 
deplorable dulness brought against its pre- 
decessor. But these varying moods are due 
to waves of political passion, and do not 
affect the question whether the House of 
Commons as a body of English gentlemen 
met for the discharge of public business has 
or has not deteriorated. I have an engraving 
of a picture of the House of Commons in 
pre-Reform days. It was carefully drawn in 
the Session of 1842, A more respectable 
body of the gentlemen of England it would 
be difficult to gather together. With the 
possible exception of one or two political 
adventurers like the then member for 
Shrewsbury, thtre is probably not a man in 
the House who is not well born or at least 
rich, Mr. Keir Hardie would look strange 
indeed in these serried ranks of portly 
gentlemen with high coat collars, cravats up 
to their chin, short-bodied coats showing the 
waistcoat beneath, and the tightly trousered 
legs. Yet this House, and its equally prim 
successors, had its obstruction, its personal 
wrangles, and its occasional duel Peel 
was attacked by Disraeli in a fashion and 
in language that would not be tolerated 
in the House of Commons now, even though 
the target were Mr* Gladstone. 

It is not necessary to go back as far as the 
days of Peel or Parliamentary Reform to sus- 
tain the bold assertion that, so far from having 
degenerated, the manners of the House of 
Commons have improved. In the Parliament 
elected in 1874 there sat on the Conservative 
side a gentleman named Smollet, who early 
distinguished himself by bringing Parlia- 
mentary debate . down to the level of 
con versation^^ *^ Random/' I n 

those daysl^ttW' tSIaS s»ne Was down after the 



General Election, and Mr. Smollet, to the 
uproarious delight of gentlemen near him, 
savagely kicked him. 

It was in the second year of this same 
Parliament, less than twenty years ago, that 
Mr. Gladstone, issuing from a division lobby, 
was suddenly pounced upon by some fifty or 
sixty Conservative members, and howled at 
for the space of 
several moments. 
It is, happily, 
possible for Mr. 
Gladstone to for- 
get, or at least to 
forgive, personal 
attacks made 
upon him 
through his long 
career. In this 
very month of the 
new Session he 
may be nightly 
seen working In 
cordial fashion 
with ancient ad- 
versaries from Ire- 
land, describing 
as 14 my honour- 
able friends" 
gentlemen who, 

ten years ago and « HOBBING H1H 

for some time 

subsequently, heaped on his head the 
coarsest vituperation permitted by practised 
manipulation of Parliamentary forms. But 
this scene in the division lobby on the 
1 2th of April, 1875, is burned into his 
recollection, I have heard him, within 
the last few months, refer to it in those 
tones of profound indignation and with 
that flashing fire in his eyes only seen 

when he is deeply moved. He mentioned^ 
what I think was not known, that Lord 
Hartington happened to be walking with 
him at the time. But there was no mistake 
for whom the angry cries were meant 
Mr. Gladstone spoke with the profounder 
indignation because, as he said ? he had on 
this occasion gone out to vote on behalf of a 

man whose char- 
acter he detested, 
because he saw 
in the action ta- 
ken against him 
an attack upon 
one of the privi- 
leges of Parlia- 

That scene 
was an outburst 
of political ani- 
mosity; and the 
movements of 
political animo- 
sity, like the dicta 
of taste, are not 
to be disputed. 
But on the 
question of good 
manners, the 
only one here 
under considera- 
tion, it may be 
affirmed that the present House of Com- 
mons would be safe from lapse into such 
an exhibition. To this better state of things 
the operation of the New Rules has con- 
spicuously contributed, and though, as 
we know, they have not operated to the 
absolute extinction of Parliamentary scenes, 
they have appreciably limited opportunity 
and incentive* 

by Google 

Original from 

Vol v,^36. 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different limes of their Lives. 

for the Luton Division of Bedfordshire in 
1885 and 1S86, in which later year he was 
one of Mr, Gladstones " Whips." He mar- 
ried the daughter of the late Sir Anthony 
Rothschild, and both he and his wife are much 

**] age 14. Ukwrnotvi*- 


Ftvtn d] 

Al;K 40. 


Born 1843. interested in the welfare of the lower classes 

ORD BATTERSEA, who was of London. Lord Battersea was unanimously 

until recently known to the world reputed the handsomest man in the House of 

as Mr. Cyril Flower, M.R, is a son Commons, and is now, in every sense of the 

of the late Mr. P.W. Flower, of word, an ornament of the House of Lords, 
Streatham, and was educated 
at Harrow and at Trinity College, Cam- 

age ai. 
Fr»m « Photo, by JTajfand, Cmtibrkipe. 

bridge. He was called to the Bar at the 
age of twenty-seven, and became Liberal 
Member for Brecknock in 1880, and 

PJt&jftMJ r DAY, 

Frmn a Photograph bp liauaao, £S, itid B»nd SUt-wi, W. 



From an. OU] 

AtiR iG. 

[Skrfrh hy hiuUttJ/. 

Born 1835. 
Edinburgh^ and 
fifteen entered 
Academy of that 



was born in 

at the age of 

the Trustees' 

city, his first 

pictures being exhibited in the Royal 

AGE 35" 

Scottish Academy, At the age of twenty- 
eight he came to London, and the same 
year exhibited at the Royal Academy for the 
first time, his contributions being entitled, 
"An Old English Song" and "Portraits," 
the latter a life-size composition of thru.: 
young Ladies. In 1865 he painted "The 

Challenge," which won a prize of ^£ioo 
given by Mn Wallace, and one of the very 
few Medals awarded to English painters at 
the Paris Universal Exhibition, In 1866 
came "The Story of a Life*' — an aged nun 
relating her experiences to a group of 
novices. Two years later, when he had only 

From a I 

Miu 44- 


been four years in London, he was elected 
an A.lvA, Among his more recent pictures 
may be mentioned "Napoleon on Board the 
Bdkrophon" (1880), "The Salon of Madame 
Recumier" (1885), "The Young Duke" 
(1889), and "St. Helena" (i8 9 z). Mr. 
Ore hard son was elected an R.A* in 1877, 
and a EXC.L, of Oxford in 1890. 

From a Ph<d& ty] i resent day. [Elliott <t Fry^ 



From a) 

, ! •:■■•>• I <!|,. 

From, a] 

AGE aj. 



ADY HALLE, whose maiden 
name was Wilhelmine N^ruda, was 
born at Brunn, where her father 
was organist of the cathedral. 
She was a pupil of Jansa, and 
made her first appearance at Vienna at the 
age of six, and in London at the age of nine. 
After this she returned to the Continent, 
and in 1864 she married Ludwig Norman, a 

Swedish musician, Since 1869 she has been 
in England every winter* playing especially 
at the concerts of Sir Charles Hall£, whom 
she married in 1S88. 


From ni 

^GE 35. 

f Phctopraph, 

Frvm a Photo.j 


\bv Burnt wt. 





•^ native of Germany, but at an 
early age he established himself 
in Paris, where he acquired a 
great reputation by his refined and 
classical rendering of the compositions of the 
great musicians; but the Revolution of 1843 
drove him to England, where he has ever 
since resided. He soon established himself 

at Manchester, and as the founder of the 
annual series of orchestral and choral con- 
certs there and in London, which have 

From a Photo, &* H. Hmmff* Rt&mt Strut, W. 

become, perhaps, the most important series 
in Europe, he has rendered the most valuable 
service to musical art. 

From a Fuinlinjt, 


From a Photo, by Jfayaii «f Uq., /m, yew Bond Atntt, W- 



Fmiitifi l J tvttrtv)-ii)iJi I'i/ Milium. <i lfat-4. lluipnat'kr.t. 



Born rSjg. 

T i. ABLER, son of Dr. Nathan 
Marcus Adler, was born in Han- 
over, and camo to London with 
his father at the age of six. He 
studied at University College, took 
his B.A* degree at the University of London 

MIR +4. 
>Wni a Pkutnffmph hy FradeHa, MM, Regent Strrt, W, 

at twenty, and that of Ph,D,, at I^eipzig, at 
twenty-two. In the following year he was 
ordained Rabbi by the famous Rapoport* 
Chief Rabbi of Prague, and became in suc- 
cession Principal of the Jews' College in 
London and Chief Minister of the Bays water 
Synagogue. In 1890 his father, the Chief 
Rabbi, died, and Dr. Adler was elected in 
his place. Dr. Adler is well known not only 
by his powerful and scholarly writings, but by 
his work among the poorer Jews of London* 

&n>ui <i Phtitoftoiph by J. H. Sawyer, A'unrich. 

From a FhoU^rn^ by The I'hvkyrutjbv <fe* 










Born 1826, 

Archibald Alison, the first Baronet, 
who was the well-known author of 
"The History of Europe/' was 
born at Edinburgh, and entered 
the Army at the age of twenty. He served 
in the Crimea, at the siege and fall of 
Sebastopol, at which date our second portrait 
represents him. During the Indian Mutiny 

ACE 3. 

Prom a 


FrtrmaTMQHtrrtaivi*] age 31 

H'erpe. Wow** 

he lost an arm at the relief of Lucknow. In 
1882 he commanded the Brigade, 2nd 
Division , during the expedition to Egypt, 
and at the decisive battle of Tel-el Kebir he 
led the Highland Brigade which fought so 
gallantly on that memorable occasion, and 
after Arabia surrender he was left in Egypt 
with the command of the British army of 

AGE 47. 

From fl Fhotoamjik by JatktetU Aldetwhot 

12,000 men to restore order and protect the 
Khedive. Sir Archibald was included in 
the thanks of Parliament for his energy and 
gallantry, and was promoted to the rank of 
Lieutenant-General ; he received his appoint- 
ment as General in 1889. In 1869 Sir Archi- 
bald Alison published an able treatise, "On 
Army Organization." 

Indiana wm&n 

From a 1 l h<4* >. ?*y I ]■ u E-: ^kkt da v. 




the Palais Royal, he engaged her for the Palais 
Royal in Paris, where she created the part of La 
Chaste Suzanne, by Paul Ferrier, Giving up 
comic opera for comedy, Jane Hading went to 
the Gyrnnase, where she created the part of Claire 
de Beaulku in "Le Maitre de Forges." London 
had the opportunity of seeing her in that 
and " Prince Zilah/' by Jules Claretie, 
later on, and fully indorsed the Parisian 
verdict These conspicuous successes 
were followed by 
others almost as 
notable, and her 
subsequent tour in 
America won her 
golden opinions, 
and was so success- 
ful that it was ex- 
t ended some 
months. Her 
latest Parisian sue- 
cess was "Le 
Prince d'Aurec," 
which added 
greatly to her 
laurels, putting her 
in the very front 
rank of grea t 

From a Ph*iU*- ly] 

AGE 5* 

[Chalot et C« T j Paris. 


\ well-known French actress, was 
born at Marseilles, in 1863, where 
her father was popular as a lead- 
ing actor, with whom she appeared 
when only three years of age as little Blanche 
de Caylus in t£ I>e Bossu/' At the age of 
thirteen she began work in earnest, having 
won u le prix de soifege " at the Marseille 
Conservatoire, and her talent having come 
to the ears of Mr. Plunkett, the director of 

FtvM a Photo- &f) 

i'JUiSfcNT 1>AV, 

[Hcutlinfftr, Ptirii 






Mdiie pel ^VreTigt 


By Beckles Willson. 


f Studio of Mr, Qtutaw Ford, A. R.A.I 

HE sculptor's practice of cast- 
ing in plaster the hands of 
his client is of comparatively 
recent growth. The artist of 
the old school — and he is fol- 
lowed in this by many of the 
new — disdained so mechanical a means to 
fidelity. Very few, indeed, among the British 
painters and sculptors of the past will be found 
who took the pains to see that the hands or 
even the figures of their counterfeit present- 
ments on canvas or in marble tallied with the 
originals. Sir Joshua Reynolds, as we know, 
would have regarded this as the essence of 
finical vulgarity- 

The principal drawback in making casts 
from life is to be found in the discomfort, 
not to speak of the actual torment, it often 
causes the sitter by the adhesion of the 
plaster to the hairy growth of the skim 
Various methods are resorted to with a view 
to obviate this, and in some cases success- 

The hands of Thomas Carlyle — stubborn, 
combative, mystical — which appear in the 
present paper, will amply repay the closest 

scrutiny. These hands are unwontedly 
realistic, and emphasize their distinctiveness 
in every vein and wrinkle. Thuy appear to 
be themselves endowed with each of those 
various qualities which caused their possessor 
to be regarded as one of the most puissant 
figures in the century's literature, The hand 
is not one, to use Charles Lamb's expressive 
phrase, to be looked at standing on one kg. 
It deserves a keener examination. 

Mention has been made of the hand of 
a distinguished prelate, Cardinal Manning, 




Among these the hand of Lord 
Palmerston will stand forth most 
prominently to the reader. Its 
characteristics are, on the whole, 
sufficiently obvious, in the ap- 
pended cast, to be thought 
accentuated. It might not un- 
profitably be noted in connection 
with those of Stratford Canning, 
Viscount de Redcliffe (for fifty 
years British Ambassador in 
India), whose statue by Boehm, 


It will not be out of place to com- 
pare it with the hands of the late Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, which were cast 
posthumously. Scarcely anything could be 
more antagonistic. The nervous personality 
of Manning is wanting here. The hands 
of the Archbishop seem more to belong 
to the order of the benevolent Bishop 
Myriel than to that of the enthusiast and 

Plenty of opportunity to study the hands 


with Tennyson's famous epitaph: 
Thou third great Canning! stand among 
our best 
And noblest, now thy long day's work 
hath ceased. 
Here, silent in our Minster of the West f 
Who wcrt the voice of England in 
the East 1 

is in a nave of the Abbey* With 
these should be joined the hand 
of Viscount Melbourne, the pre- 
decessor of Sir Robert Peel in 
the Premiership, and the great 
statesman after whom the city of 
Melbourne was named, in order 


of statesmen is afforded in those 
of Lord Palmerston, Count Cavour, 
Sir Stratford Canning, and Lord 
Melbourne. The fallacy of attach- 
ing special qualities to any dis- 
tinctive trait in the hand of an 
eminent person is most readily 
discernible here. One should avoid 
a posteriori reasoning. It would 
be the same for a physiognomist to 
argue a man a statesman from a 
facial resemblance to Mr. Gladstone, 
or that he is fit to write tragedu s 
because he owns the exact facial 
proportions of Sardou. 





to range this British galaxy against the hands 
of the Italian patriots, Count Cavour and 
Joseph Garibaldi, whose labours resulted in 


that master stroke of latter-day politics, the 
unification of Italy. Those of the former 
were cast separately in different positions, it 


being the intention of the sculptor for the 
right hand to rest lightly upon a column and 

the left to grasp a roll of parchment 
Garibaldi's hand may be described as both 
virile and nervous. 

Another type of hand is exemplified In the 


hands of Messrs, Joseph Arch and John 
Burns, Both of these belong to self-made 
men, accustomed to hard manual labour 
from childhood. Their powerful ruggedness 


is admirably set off by the exquisite sym- 
metry and feminine proportions of the hand 
of John Jackson, a Royal Academician and 
great painter of his time. For symmetry, 


combined with grace, this hand is not sur- 

The haBd uf Sir Edgar Boehm was cast by 
his ass^(fl^^9(|iR5#it6ri, for the former's 
statue of Sir Francis Drake, It will be observed 

Vol, v,— 39. 



that the fingers grasp a pair of compasses, the 
original of those which appear in the bronze 
at Plymouth, 

A comparison of the hand of Mr. Ban- 
croft with that of Mr Irving, given last 
month, will prove interesting, if not instructive. 


Reverting to the ladies again, interest will, 
no doubt, centre upon the hand of the cele- 
brated Lady Blessington, accounted the 


wittiest hostess of her day ; and not least 
attractive will appear Mrs. Carlyle's and those 
of Mrs. Thornycroft and the celebrated 

Madame Tussaud. The wife of the Chelsea 
sage was herself, as is known, an authoress 
of no mean repute. 

It has been said that the hands of Carlyle 
are characteristic; that they possess, with 


those of Wilkie Collins, the merit of being 
precisely the sort of hands one would expect 




^Ute^ ** 


\\ from 









to see so labelled. We now present a 
third candidate for this merit of candour in 
casts of the hands of the notorious Arthur 
Orton, better known under the sobriquet of 
the Claimant. They are pulseless^ chubby, 
oblique : yet they are remarkable. In scruti- 
nizing them, it is difficult not to feel that one 
looks upon hands very remote indeed from 
the ordinary. 

Next we look upon the hand of a giant 
even superior to Anak, in Loushkin, the 
Russian. But physically great as was the 
Muscovite, it is to be doubted if he really 
attained the world-wide celebrity of the little 
American, Charles Stratton (otherwise known 
as "Tom Thumb ") t whose extremity serves 
as a foil to his rival for exhibition honours. 

Another Boehm relic requires some explana- 
tion. Every visitor to the Metropolis has 

cL ubtless seen and admired the heroic 
equestrian statue of the Duke of 
Wellington, opposite Apsley House. 
They may even have noticed the 
right hand, which is represented as 
lightly holding the rein of the animal. 
The appended was cast from the 
original model in clay of the hand of 
the Duke, no cast direct from life 
ever having been executed. 

It is sufficient to say that the sub- 
joined hand and arm of Lady Cardigan, 
wife of the noted Crimean warrior, 


was one greatly admired by Sir Edgar, in 
whose studio it hung for many years. In 
like manner will the hand of Lady Richard 
(irosvenor be found the possessor of many 
beautiful and interesting traits. 





A member not altogether dissimilar to 
that of the musician Liszt is the hand of 
Carl von Angeli, Court painter to Her 
Majesty, and like that also in setting at 


naught the conclusions too often arrived at 
by the chirognomist For there is here breadth 
without symmetry, and an utter absence of 
the poise which we look for in the ideal hand 
of the artist It is instructive to compare 
it to the hand of the painter, John Jackson. 

Observe the massive, masculine fingers and 
disproportionately small finger-nails in the 

hands of Professor Weekes, the sculptor 
There is scarcely any perceptible tapering at 
the third joint, and the fingers all exhibit 
very little prominence of knuckle or contour. 
It is anything but an artistic hand, and yet 

its owner was a man of the keenest artistic 


In Frederick Baring's (Lord Ashburton) 

we find the thick-set fingers, and what the 
chirognomist calls the "lack of manual 
repose/* of the great financier. But as his 
lordship was statesman with a talent for 
debate as well as man of commerce, it 
will not unlikely be found that the 
hand presented combines the both 

I have been enabled, through the 
kindness of Mr, J. T, Tussaud, to 


embellish the present collection by an 
ancient cast of the hand of the Comte 

■ ^ 



■ * 

WL *mtm*^ 


^^^ ^^^^^^P 


original rrom 



jo i 

de Lorge, a famous prisoner in the Bastille. 
This cast was takers together with a death 
mask, after death, by the great-grand- 
mother of the sculptor, to whom both 
relics have descended. 

The Queen '5 hands, which appeared in 
the last issue of this Magazine, were cast by 
John Francis, a famous sculptor of the day. 

Mr. Hamo Thomeycroft, R.A*, writes me 
to say that "While the moulds were being 
made Her Majesty removed all the rings 
from her fingers except the wedding ring. 
This she was most anxious should not 
come off, and was in considerable fear 
lest the moulding process might remove 


[The original drawings of the illustrations in thh Magazine are always an vfew t and en sa/t } in the 
Art Callery at these offices x wkkh is open to the public without charge.] 

by Google 

Original from 

m %.& 

fT was harvest day at a house 
in the little village of Panola, 
in Castile, on the 25th of 
August, 1838. The great 
sheaves of corn had been 
borne, amidst universal rejoic- 
ing, to their resting-place in the granary* All 
the village inhabitants had shared in this 
pleasant task, and now, following an ancient 
custom, they had erected a trophy composed 
of a few last sheaves of corn, round which 
the young girls and men began to dance gaily, 
to the sound of guitars and castanets. 

Within the house, in a room which over- 
looked this charming scene, were two men. 

The first, seated at a table, was an old man 
over sixty, but enfeebled rather by cares than 
by age. His venerable head, crowned with 
white hair, drooped upon his breast with 
patriarchal dignity. The old man, who had 
been a soldier in the Spanish army, was Don 
Pedro de la Sarga, a Castilian as noble as he 
was poor. His companion was his son, Don 
Stephano, a young man of twenty, considered 
the most accomplished man in Panola, He 
was handsome ; his warm, brown skin, his 
large, black eyes, the regular features, which 

From the French of 

Pitre Chevalier. 

wore that expression of national pride which 
distinguishes a Castilian from any other race, 
and his raven-black hair were eminently the 
Spanish type in all its grace and haughtiness. 
The young man wore the Spanish holiday 
costume, the richness of which has made 
travellers exclaim, more than once, that no 
European prince is clothed like a simple 
peasant of Castile. Stephano had on a 
short vest of black cloth, lined with yellow 
silk, ornamented with fringes and bunches of 
ribbons ; an embroidered shirt with open 
collar revealing a waistcoat with gilt buttons, 
knee-breeches of black silk confined at the 
knees by bunches of ribbons, shoes and gaiters 
of fine brown leather, while a black felt hat 
with drooping plume completed his costume. 
Stephano's gloomy face contrasted with 
his gay attire. He leant against the open 
window, carelessly holding in his hand a 
bouquet of faded jasmine, whilst he gazed 
with melancholy eyes upon the festive scene 
before him, and only by a shake of the head 
and a sad smile replied to the light bad I iage 
of the dancers as they passed the window. 
But now and then hk tyes lighted up, and 
he sigh^^^jtJ^^E^^m dancer, prettier 
than the rest, approached him. 



" How pretty she is ! " he murmured, as he 
followed her retreating form. 

" Stephano ! " called out the old man, who 
had been watching his son for some time. 

"How gracefully she dances," continued 
the handsome dreamer, wrapt in his 

" Stephano ! " repeated the old man. 

"Yes, father," cried Stephano, with a 
start, and coming forward. "Do you wish 
to speak to me ? " 

"From your mysterious air and endless 
sighs these last few days, Stephano, I 
conclude that you are in love," said his 

"In love ! " stammered the young man. 
" You think I am in love ? " 

" I do not think, my son — I am sure of it; 
and I have only one reproach to make to 
you, and that is that you have not made me 
a confidant of your secret before." 

"You shall know all, father," said 
Stephano, drawing a chair close to Don 

" For the last month," he continued, " I 
have had in my heart a love which nothing 
can subdue, and the object of my passion 
is a young girl here, a glance from whose 
eyes is worth more to me than all the 
world besides ; but she shuns my love, and 
on every occasion strives to avoid me. She 
hardly permits me to speak to her for fear 
that the passion she reads in my eyes will 
break into words." 

" Bah ! " said the old man, merrily ; " it 
is very likely that she shuns you for the 
reason of your not opening your mouth ; 
you scare the young girl with your morose 

" Oh, if that were only true," sighed the 
disconsolate swain. 

" Now," said the old man, " there only 
remains for me to know the name of my 
future daughter-in-law." 

The young man was about to pronounce 
the name which already trembled on his lips 
when a sudden clamour interrupted the most 
interesting portion of this conversation. 
The peasants, followed by the partners, 
were rushing towards the house, and in 
the twinkling of an eye the room was filled 
with the animated and noisy throng. The 
new-comers wore rich costumes, more or less 
copies of Stephano's ; some carried guitars, 
others castanets, while most of them leaned 
upon tall peeled rods, forked at the top, and 
ornamented with ribbons of all colours.; each 
carried on the left side of his vest a bouquet 
similar to that of Stephano. The young 

girls in their silken bodices, short skirts, red 
stockings and mantillas, rattled their castanets 
as they entered with their partners. The 
joyous crowd surrounded Don Pedro, whilst 
cries of " Rosita ! Rosita ! " resounded from 
all sides. 

" Well, well, my children, what is it you 
want ? " demanded the village Nestor of his 
clamorous audience. 

" We want Mile. Rosita," they repeated. 

"What, my niece? But is she not with 
you ? I thought it was she whom you were 
leading just now round the corn sheaves." 

"That is true," replied one of the foremost 
of the crowd; "everything went smoothly 
until we wished her to take part in our usual 
ceremony of 'The Maiden's Choice.'" 

" Did you explain to her," asked the old 
man, " what is the ceremony ? " 

" Yes, we told her all that was necessary : 
that it is an old custom in Panola on harvest 
day, after having escorted the daughter of 
the house round the last sheaves of corn, for 
all her admirers in the village to present her, 
each in his turn, with a bouquet ; that she must 
then choose the one she loves amongst them 
by retaining his bouquet, whilst the others 
are rejected. She answered us by saying 
that she had only been in Panola a few 
months, and was therefore not forced to 
adopt our customs, and leaving us with these 
words she fled from us and escaped through 
the little granary door." 

" The little shrew ! " Don Pedro exclaimed, 
who, like an amiable old man, was always on 
the side of the young folk. " But my 
friends," he added, "you are but poor 
Lotharios to be flouted by a young girl ; you 
must follow her and bring her back." 

" That is just what we have done ; but one 
cannot catch a bird without also having 
wings. She seemed to fly as we followed 
her, and on reaching the granary she entered 
and slammed the door in our faces ; so we 
have come, as a last resource, to you, Don 
Pedro, to ask her to comply with our 

" You are right," replied the old man, with 
all the gravity of a judge, " you must be 
satisfied at once " ; and he looked round for 
Don Stephano, who was standing more 
moody than ever behind a giggling group of 
young peasants. 

"My son," he said, "go and bring your 
cousin here. If she refuses, tell her that I 
particularly wish her to come." 

" I will go : father/' said Stephano, after a 
second's hesitation ; and he went out. 

There was a slight pause ; then shouts and 



acclamations and rattling of castanets burst 
forth, as Rosita, with downcast eyes, entered 
the room, led by Stephano. Well might 
they welcome with fervour such a charming 
creature. Rosita was just eighteen. She 
wore upon her golden brown hair a black 
lace mantilla, which contrasted with her 
creamy complexion and the liquid depth of 
her large brown eyes. A brown velvet 
bodice showed off to perfection her slight yet 
rounded figure; and her silk skirts just 
revealed her pretty ankles and small feet in 
their silk stockings and neat shoes. 

Rosita was a native of Navarre. She had 
quitted Tafalla, her native village, on the 
death of her father and mother, who had 
been victims of the Civil War which at this 
time desolated the country, and had been 
conducted not without peril to her uncle's 
house at Panola, in which she had since 
taken up her abode. 

" Rosita," said Don Pedro to his niece, 
taking her hand, " I have made your apolo- 
gies to your friends for the trick you have 
played them. It is your turn now to atone 
for your misdeed, by submitting to an old 
custom. Among the brave Castilians who 
surround you there are many suitors for your 
hand. There must be one among them 
whom you secretly favour. Your choice is 
entirely free, and even the favoured one after 
the ceremony will then have only the right to 
please you and to merit your hand." 

" But, uncle " faltered the young girl. 

" I will take no denial, my dear," inter- 
rupted the old man. 

Rosita strove in vain to protest, but her 
imperturbable uncle would not listen, and 
gave a sign to the peasants to begin the 
ceremony, in which he seemed to take as 
keen an interest as they did themselves. 
Thereupon the majority of the young men, 
darting furious glances of jealousy at one an- 
other, prepared for the conlest. Rosita, at 
her uncle's side, stood at one end of the room. 
At her right and left were grouped the young 
peasant girls, admiring without envy the 
queen of the fete, and forming her court. 
Stephano stood behind with dejected mien. 
Those with guitars touched their instruments 
lightly now and then, and upon this scene, 
worthy of the pencil of Leopold Roberts, 
the sun, now setting at the horizon, cast a 
calm and solemn light 

The first peasant who came forward was a 
tall young man, with a ruddy complexion. 

" My name is Geronimo Caldaroz, and I 
am twenty-five. It has been the talk of the 
village why I did not marry, and it has been 

said it was because I had never yet seen a 
maiden beautiful enough to please me. But 
now I have found her; it is you, Rosita. 
Will you accept my bouquet ? " He presented 
his bouquet to the young girl, who blushed as 
she received it, and then let it fall. 

"Refused! Refused!" whispered the 
spectators, whilst the young man disappeared 
into the crowd, and a second one took his 
place. But the same thing occurred, and 
with the same result. Soon the jasmine 
bouquets covered the ground round the 
young girl's feet The rejected suitors 
multiplied so fast that they could no longer 
hide their discomfiture amongst the others. 
Restless and smiling, Don Pedro wondered 
why his niece was so severe, and the remain- 
ing suitors seemed to hesitate whether to 
advance into the lists or not Then the last 
three timidly advanced one by one toward 
Rosita. The two first were not even heard 
to the end of their speech, and then all eyes 
were fixed with interest upon the last 
Rosita let him finish his discourse, took his 
bouquet, which she scrutinized demurely, and 
then uttering a deep sigh let it fall upon the 
amorous trophy piled at her feet 

A murmur rose amongst the stupefied 
villagers. Don Pedro approached his niece. 

"Well, my child," he said, "have you 
thought of what you have done ? " 

" Yes, uncle," Rosita replied. " Did you 
not tell me yourself that I was perfectly 

" Free to choose, without doubt ; but not 
to send all your suitors away." 

Rosita cast down her eyes and made no 

" Pardon me, father, but there still remains 
one," said Stephano, breaking the silence. 

" Where is he ? " everyone asked at once. 

" Here he is." 

Rosita trembled so violently that she was 
compelled to lean for support upon her 
uncle's arm, and Don Pedro, more astonished 
than anyone, rushed towards his son. 

" What, Stephano ? " he said joyfully. " It 
is your cousin whom " 

" Yes, father," replied the young man. 
" It is she whom I love." 

In the midst of such general interest 
Stephano, pale with emotion, advanced to- 
wards his cousin. 

" Rosita, I love you," he said, simply. 
"Will you keep this bouquet which I offer 
to you?" 

The young man pronounced these words 
with a voice so sw^ftand sxpfessive, and the 
gesture with which he offered the symbolic 



flower was so imploring and pas- 
sionate, that a sympathetic: thrill 

ran through 


tears bedim med Don Pedro's eyes. 

Rosita, not less pale than her 
cousin, took the bouquet with 


a trembling hand, gazed upon it tenderly, 
then made a movement as if to throw it 
down, paused, and then at last, with head 
turned aside, let it fall. 

" Santa Maria ! He also ■ 7 ' cried the crowd, 

" Do not condemn me without hearing my 
justification," cried Rosita, turning to Don 

" Your justification ? "' repeated Stephano, 
with relief, 

" Uncle/' she said, after a pause, " there is 
a secret which I may have been wrong in 
concealing from you hitherto, but I must 
confide it to you alone." 

gi To me ! " cried the astonished old man. 

"I will come with 
you at once," and, 
seizing Rosita's 
hand, he led her 
away, making 
signs to the 
peasants as he 
did so to disperse. 
St ephan o 
strolled out to 
breathe the air 
upon the hills, 
whose shadows 
were beginning 
to slope down into 
the valley. The 
sky was lighted 
only by the after- 
glow of the red, 
sunken sun ; the 
evening breeze 
carried along in 
the warm air the 
perfume of the 
jasmine flowers 
and orange groves 
in bloom, and no 
sound was heard 
but the music of 
guitars and casta- 
nets, mingled 
sometimes with 
the faint tinkle of 
sheep bells. 

When Stephano 
re-entered he 
found his father and cousin in the lower hall, 
Rosita, on perceiving him, made a pretext for 
rising, :mri hurriedly Itft the room. Don 
Pedro and his son were left alone, 

M One word, father," said Stephano. " Does 
Rosita love me, and will she also become 
my wife ? " 

" You must forget Rosita/* replied the old 
man. " You must tear from your heart even 
the remembrance of your love." 

The young man abandoned himself to 

" I shall never forget her/' he said, passion- 
ately. "My love for Rosita will only cease 
with my life." 

And he rushed from the room, leaving the 
old man wondering, 


For some weeks the inmates of Don 
Pedro's house were forced to remain prisoners, 
for rebel soldiers filled the neighbouring 
villages, and troopt; of guerillas were being 

Vol, v.— 40. 



mustered to put them to flight. It was a 
morning! early in September, just after the 
sun had peered above the horizon. A fine 
rain had fallen during the night, and the 
drops which rested on the foliage sparkled 
like myriads of diamonds. The streets were 
as yet deserted ; some muleteers alone 
passed along them at intervals. Don Pedro's 
house was the only one astir. 

Don Stephano, according to his custom, 
had risen with the dawn, and was now alone 
in the lower hall, standing opposite 
the window which overlooked the 
high roid. He was occupied in 
fixing an iron lance upon a wooden 
rod, at which he gazed abstractedly. 

The sound of a voice filling the 
air with song attracted his atten- 
tion ; it was singing the Moorish 
romance of "Adlemarand Adalifa," 
and to the quick perception of a 
Spanish ear was marked with a 
slight Ultra mo ntaine accent, which 
Stephano discerned like a true 
Castilian. Without moving he 
listened to the song which awoke 
the echoes of the valley. The 
.a morons words recalled to Step- 
hano's mind the thought of Rosita, 
and he sighed deeply, Then he 
listened anew to the voice, which 
grew nearer and nearer, and in 
which, in spite of its strange accent, 
he seemed to hear an understrain 
of singular emotion. His conjee - 
tures were not long, however. A 
man enveloped in a large mantle 
peered in at the open window, and 
after throwing a rapid glance behind 
him leapt into the room, Steph;mo 
recoiled at the sight of such a 
strange visitor, and felt tempted to 
seize the man, whom he took at 
first for a robber. Then a troop 
of horsemen dashed past the house. 
The stranger gave a sigh of relief. 
Then for the first time he caught 
sight of Stephano, 

"I must be careful/' the soldier muttered, 
as he drew his cloak more carefully round 
him. 4t This Spaniard does not look over 

<£ Who can this man be ? " thought 
Stephano, as he instinctively put his hand 
on his pistols ; but on seeing the stranger 
advance towards him with a pleasant smile, 
he paused 

"Noble Castilian," said the stranger, 
"are you a man to oblige an enemy 

in peril, and who for a quarter of an hour 
wishes you no more harm than if you were 
his brother ? " 

Before replying, Stephano scrutinized his 
questioner. He saw before him a man of 
about twenty-eight, with a frank face and 
light hair and moustache. His accent, and 
the blue pantaloons which appeared under 
the brown mantle, proclaimed him a 

" No unarmed man is my enemy," replied 


Stephano, ( ' and from 
the moment my roof 
was over your head you 
became my guest" 

" Shake hands on it ! 
You are a fine fellow," 
cried the soldier, hold- 
ing out his hand* At 
the same time he drew 
aside his mantle, and 
Stephano recognised the 
uniform worn by the 
French volunteers of Don Carios's army. 
" Now, if you have a drop of anything to 
drink handy, I will tell you in a few words 
what has brought me here." 

Stephano opened the sideboard* and 
brought out a bottle and glasses. The 
soldier wiped his moustache as he began. 

"You see before you/' he said ? with frank 
abruptness, '* Charles Dulaurier, a soldier 
by bi^^™«py Keutenant in the 
Grenadiers of His Majesty Charles V, — 



pardon me, Don Carlos. Being stationed 
some few miles from here, I asked fc: leave 
of absence this morning to join some troops 
which (pardon me) are going to make a raid 
upon this very village this morning. But, 
thanks to my foolhardiness in starting off 
alone, I soon found myself in the hands of 
guerillas. I escaped. They pursued me. 
But I, though alone in a strange country 
and unarmed, led them a nice dance for 
half an hour. I was just about to fall 
again into their hands when I came in 
sight of this house. I duped them by my 
ruse of pitching my voice in such a manner 
as to lead them to think I was beyond the 
village, whilst I at the same time took refuge 
here. To conclude, my worthy fellow, no 
doubt the guerillas are not blind, and not 
finding any trace of me upon the route, will 
return to Panola. Consequently, if you are 
a host to my liking you will " 

" Conceal you," said Stephano, quickly. 
11 You are right ! " and he glanced round with 
uneasiness. The lieutenant struck him on 
the shoulder. " One minute," he said ; " the 
guerillas cannot reappear for half an hour. 
This little expedition, as you may imagine, 
was not my only motive for coming to Panola, 
and I must again abuse your patience in 
asking you some questions upon a certain 
subject which is the motive of my expedi- 

"Go on," replied Stephano, with resigna- 

" I came here to look for a young girl," 
said the Frenchman, twisting his moustache, 
11 and as, perhaps, you will be so good as to 
give me some information on this point, it 
would be better for you to know the story. 
Last year my regiment, after a vigorous 
resistance, entered a village in Navarre." 

" A village in Navarre?" repeated Stephano, 
and his brow darkened. 

" One house had been so well defended, 
indeed, that it was found necessary to sur- 
round it, and our infuriated soldiers, drunk 
with carnage, determined to massacre every- 
one within. I luckily surprised them as they 
drew their sabres upon two poor old creatures 
and their young daughter. I threw myself 
between the victims and their butchers ; the 
wretches turned upon me and I fell wounded 
by a bayonet thrust, but they were saved. 
The kind people who owed me their lives 
bore me to their house, and gave me every 
care. The young girl watched at my bed- 
side for more than a fortnight. Briefly — the 
beauty, the tenderness of the little girl, won 
my heart. Losing no time, I declared my 

passion. She whispered, blushing, that I 
might speak to her parents. As soon as I 
was well enough to walk, I hastened to the 
worthy old man, who, after the shock he had 
received, became mortally ill, and felt his 
end approach. I had no sooner asked him 
for his daughter's hand than he exclaimed, 
1 God be praised ! I shall not now die 
without having recompensed our deliverer.' 
At the same time he took the young girl's 
hand and mine, and, after making us exchange 
rings, clasped them together. Then he 
stretched forth his trembling hands above 
our heads to bless us, whilst on our knees 
by the bedside we swore eternal fidelity to 
each other. Three days after the good 
man died, and the same day my regiment 
left for Castile. Seven months passed with- 
out my hearing any news from my betrothed, 
and it was only by chance I learned that 
on her mother's death she had quitted 
Navarre to take up her abode in her uncle's 
house at Panola. 

" But what is the matter ? " said the 
lieutenant, as Stephano rose hurriedly. 

" I know enough," replied the young man 
in a hollow voice. " The village was Tafalla, 
and the young girl's name is Rosita." 

" But what is there in that ? " cried the 
lieutenant, who understood nothing of 
Stephano's emotion. " You know Rosita ? 
She is here ? You are silent. Heavens ! 
Is she dead — or married ? " 

" No, no," replied Stephano, with an 
effort. " Rosita is here. No doubt she 
loves you and watches for your return with 

" Where, then, shall I find my betrothed ? " 

Stephano was about to reply to this 
question when the tramp of horses was 
heard. It was the troop returning. 

" Softly ! " whispered Dulaurier as he crept 
towards the window. " Yes, these are my 
friends. Where will you hide me ? " 

Stephano regarded him with a savage 
gleam in his eyes and muttered to himself, 
" This man comes here to blast my happiness, 
and I must protect his life at the peril of my 


" What am I to do ? " repeated Dulaurier. 

" Take this dagger," said Stephano, " put 
on your mantle and follow me." He un- 
fastened a little door which opened upon a 
staircase which led into the garden, and 
descended, followed by Dulaurier. They 
stole along behind a thick hedge of hawthorn 
until they came a |to Cl the trees of a little 
orchard, from which rose the roof of a ruined 
summer - house. On reaching this spot 

3 o8 



'they stole along/ 

Stephano installed the lieutenant so that he 
could watch both the road and the garden ; 
then having arranged upon the course they 
should take, Stephano hastened back to the 

Don Pedro was in the lower hall, alone, 
when his son entered. 

**I have a request to make to you," said 
the young man, clasping his father's hand 
convulsively, " I want you to let me start at 
once to join my brothers and to fight for 

" Can you then leave your cousin ? " said 
Don Pedro, sadly. li And you do not 
know " 

" I know more than you, father, more 
than Rosita herself about this affair," inter- 
rupted Stephano. "Is not Rosita betrothed 
to a French volunteer in Don Carlos's army, 
and is this not the secret she confided to 
you on harvest day ? ,J 

" It is true. But how have vou discovered 

" From a man flying from the pursuit of 

guerillas ; no other than the man himself, 
Lieutenant Charles Dulaurier ! " 

" Is it possible ? " exclaimed the stupefied 
old man. 

" You see, father, that it is absolutely 
necessary for me to go/' cried Stephano, " I 
cannot wait until Rosita and Dulaurier are 
united. Their happiness would be 
more than I could bear, and I have 
r thought of a plan by which the lieu- 

tenant can be saved without putting 
off my departure, 
I shall join the 
troop of guerillas 
who are seeking 
Dulaurier in the 
village. Seeing me 
become one of 
themselves their 
suspicions will be 
lulled, and I shall 
save my rival by 
departing with his 

"You are right," 
replied his father, 
after a painful 
pause, but he 
could not utter a 
word more. 

The young man 

proceeded to take 

down from the 

wall his pistols 

and his gun ; he 

placed the former in his belt and the latter 

on his shoulder, took his hat and stepped 

forward to bid his father farewell. But 

as he threw himself into the arms of the 

weeping old man, the dour opened and 

Rosita entered, 

The young girl glanced quickly from one 
to the other, and then her eyes remained 
fixed on Stephano. 

" What are you going to do ? " she asked, 
examining his equipment 

11 1 am going away," replied Stephano. 
" Farewell, Rosita, be happy. Farewell, 
father," he added, embracing Don Pedro. 

" He is going," said Rosita, her eyes dim 
with tears, "without one friendly srniie, with- 
out one clasp of his hand, Oh ! Stephano," 
she exclaimed, springing forward. "You 
cannot part from me thus ! w 

" You are keeping me ! " said the bewil- 
dered young man, 

"Yes," she replied, seizing his hand. 

^ySHi JEw 1 go - * '"*- 



" Remain ! " cried the young man, pas- 
sionately* " Remain to see you in the arm s 
of another ? Never ! " 

As he moved towards the door T Rosita 
sprang towards him with outstretched arms. 
4 * And what if it is you whom I love, Ste- 
phano? What if I have never loved anyone 
but you ? J? A thunderbolt would hardly have 
produced more effect than did these words* 

"You love me?" he repeated, approaching 
his cousin. " Rosita, for mercy's sake, repeat 
those words once more, so that I may be 
sure of having heard aright." 

" Yes, I love you," repeated the young girl, 
tenderly; "no one but you! Will you stay 
now ? " 

**For ever, if you wish it!" cried the 
enraptured youth, throwing down his gun 
and pistols, u Look at me, Rosita, that I 
may read in your eyes that word which, gives 
me life, and which I have waited for so long. 
How blind and foolish I have been ! But 
that will be all right now, will it not, my 
beloved?" As he spoke he embraced her 

from his ecstasy of happiness ; and he fixed 
his gaze upon his cousin. 

The girl had not even heard Don Pedro. 

" Rosita, 77 said her lover, " you say you 
love me, but you have ijkmeit 

" Dulaurier ! " cried the startled girl 
" Great Heaven ! pardon me, I had forgotten." 

" If this man," continued Stephano, "'came 
here to claim your promise, you would reply, 
would you not, that friendship alone, not 
love, had drawn you towards him, and that 
your hand, promised when you hardly knew 
what you did, would now be given without 
your heart ? " 

u Yes, that is what I should answer; but he 
is not likely to come here, Stephano." 

" And what if he were here already ? " 
asked an impressive voice. 

Don Pedro at the same time stepped 
forward between the young people, and 
before the severe face of the Spaniard their 
eyes drooped. 

" Father ! " faltered the young man. 

" Silence ! " cried the old man. " Your 

was forgotten 

Through the open window came the clink 
of spurs and rattling of sabres. This sound, 
to which Stephano and Rosita were deaf, 
struck on the ear of Don Pedro and paralyzed 
him with terror. 

" Stephano ! IJ he cried attest. " Ruraember 
Lieutenant Dulaurier!" 

" Ah ! " groaned Stephano, rudely torn 






duty is clear. What if Dulaurier were in the 
house, Rosita — what if, more faithful than 
you, he had come to claim his promise, made 
at the death-bed of your father ? I ask you 
what you would answer/' 

Trembling and submissive as a criminal 
before his judge, the young girl turned her 
eyes from Step ha no to Don Pedro, 

"I should reply to Lieutenant Dulaurier 
that, before God and man, I am his betrothed 
bride, and that while 
he lives no other can 
be my husband." 

"Come then, my 
child, prepare to 
receive your fiance" 
and Don Pedro held 
out his hand to his 
niece to lead her 

" Vou are destroy- 
ing my happiness!" 
cried Stephano* 

" But in return I 
give you back your 
honour/* replied Dan 
Pedro- " Look after 
the lieutenant, for 
here come the gueril- 
las ! " and he went 

"What a dream, 
and w r hat an awaken- 
ing!" murmured 
Stcphano as he was 
left alone. "Rosita 
vows she loves me, 
and at the same time 
declares she will 
never be mine while 
Dulaurier lives. 
While /& lives ! 
And I must take 
upon myself the peril 
of saving him, when 
I have only to let 

him Oh, how 

despair tempts us to 
horrible deeds! Is 

there time to fly, to quit this spot where each 
thought is torture : to hasten and join the 
guerillas before they enter the house ? For, 
alas ! if they enter now and demand where 
their enemy is — by Heaven ! I shall not have 
the strength to resist I must fly ! " 

Picking up his gun and pistols he rushed 
towards the door, but recoiled at the sight of 
a man in the uniform of a captain of guerillas, 
who by a gesture forced him to pause. 


11 Malediction — it is too late ! 7 ' murmured 
the young man, as he dropped upon a chair, 
and let his unheeded weapons fall to the 

"Two sentinels before each door and 
window," called out the captain to the 
soldiers who followed h : ni. "This is the 
last house in which our prisoner could take 
refuge/* he continued, striking impatiently 
the butt end of his rifle upon the ground. 

11 Search well, com- 
rades ; you know he 
who takes the French- 
man prisoner is to 
have the honour of 
firing the first shot 
upon him, and is also 
to receive twenty 
douros for reward/* 
Thereupon he 
advanced into the 
room. " Well, my 
good fellow, JJ he said 
to Stephano ; " what 
are you going to do 
with these weapons ? 
Are they to defend 
yourself or to protect 
the officer whom you 
have hidden here ? " 
" No one is hidden 
in this house," replied 
the young man, with 
the courage which 
peril bestows, "The 
I,a Sargas are known 
throughout the 
country to be devoted 
to Spain and the 
Queen* I have three 
brothers in the na- 
tional army, and I 
have just picked up 
these weapons with 
the intention of join- 
ing your troops. 5 ' 

The captain looked 
at him with a sneer- 
ing smile. Then he 
turned to his companions, who had just 
returned from searching the house, 
" Well, have you found anything ? " 
<( Only a young girl and an old man/ 7 was 
the reply. 

"Bring the old man here,' 1 said the 
captain ; then he turned to Stephano. "And 
you , sir, go with my lieutenant and these 
three men, znd show them every room there 
is" ; theiilnfe nmnivmetlfifiltKfe lieutenant's ear, 



slipping at the same time a purse of gold into 
his hand : " Spare neither threats nor per- 
suasion to gain this young man over to our 
side. Whatever it costs, I must recapture 
our prisoner." 

Stephano ff It tempted to resist these orders, 
but he reflected that this would only draw 
suspicion upon him, and he led the way up 
the stairs, which were placed in a corner of 
the room. 

At the same time Don Pedro entered, 
guarded by two soldiers and leaning on his 
staff. Then an interval ensued, and the 
minutes flew past. Suddenly a pistol shot 
was heard. Everyone gave a start of alarm. 
Then one of the guards who had gone out 
with Stephano came rushing down the stairs 
and into the room. 

" The bird is snared, or will be in a few 
minutes," he cried. " Our prisoner," he 
continued, pointing through the window, " is 
in that building which you see at the bottom 
of the garden." 

" How do you know this ? " asked the 

" From the young man who is upstairs 
with the lieutenant." 

" From Stephano ! " cried the old man, 
growing pale with horror. 

" Ah, ah ! " laughed the captain, " your son 
does not seem very hard to persuade." 

"The lieutenant having discovered nothing," 
the man went on, " told three of us to go 
and search the granary, and took advantage 
of the occasion to take the young man aside. 
I watched them. A purse of gold and the 
barrel of a pistol have been the principal 
inducements. The sly fellow at first was 
very obstinate, and it was then that the lieu- 
tenant fired the pistol at him to frighten him. 
The young man seemed to be moved in a 
singular manner by the shot. He gave way 
with good grace, and pointed the pavilion 
out to us." 

Whilst the captain lent a joyful ear to 
this narrative, Don Pedro, on the contrary, 
listened with terror mingled with incredulity. 
At these last words he could contain himself 
no longer, and broke in violently : — 

" Enough, wretch ; enough ! " he cried. 
" What you say is impossible ! It is an 
infamous calumny ! My son is quite in- 
capable of such villainy ! " 

" Look, senor," replied the man, pointing 
to the stairs. 

Stephano in truth was descending with the 
lieutenant, holding the purse in his hand. 
His pale and agitated face seemed to proclaim 
his guilt, and Don Pedro sank back fainting* 

on a seat. Stephano crossed the room with 
a faltering step without observing his father, 
and, reaching the window, gazed out upon 
the road. 

In recalling to mind his son's jealousy of 
Dulaurier, Don Pedro understood the facts 
of the matter — that he had sold his guest to 
get rid of a detested rival. Maddened by 
passion, he had without doubt lost all control 
over himself. After having exchanged some 
words in a low voice with his lieutenant, the 
captain made a sign to two of his men. 

" Remain with this fellow," he said, in a 
tone of contempt, pointing to Stephano, 
" until we reach the pavilion ; if he makes 
one movement shoot him, and when a volley 
announces to you that we are not deceived, 
join us to start upon our route." 

"Very good, captain," answered the two 
soldiers, taking up their position on each side 
of Stephano, whilst the others went out softly. 

A mournful silence reigned in the 

Stephano stood erect before the window, 
with haggard eyes fixed upon the road ; Don 
Pedro, mute and motionless in his chair, 
seemed like a man bereft of all at a single 
blow. Then, his misery overwhelming him, 
he covered his face with his hands and wept. 
Stephano turned round quickly, and for the 
first time saw his father. 

" Great Heavens ! He was there, and 
heard all ! " he murmured. " Father ! " he 
cried imploringly. 

" Call me your father no more," cried the 
old man, with flaming eyes, " unless you can 
tell me that I am blind and deaf, or that I 
have dreamed that my son was a coward, a 
traitor, an assassin ! Tell me so, Stephano, 
for pity's sake ! " 

The young man made an effort as if he 
were about to speak, but paused at the sight 
of his two guards ; the strain was so painful 
that he was forced to lean for support on 
one of the guerilla's arms. Then he turned 
away; Don Pedro rose from his seat and 
came towards his son. 

" His eye never quits this fatal window," 
he murmured to himself. , " It looks as if he 
watched to see the success of his perfidy, 
that he wishes to assure himself that his 
rival does not escape. Wretch ! " he burst 
forth, " if this is so, may you be " 

Suddenly a hand was laid softly upon the 
old man's arm. It was Rosita. 

" Ah ! it is you, Rosita ! " said Don Pedro 
with a bewildered stare. "Wretched man 
that T am, what was I about to do?" he 
added, passing his hand over his forehead. 



Rosita came farther forward into the room, 

" Stephano guarded by two soldiers ! " she 
cried ts Holy Virgin ! what does this mean, 
and what has happened ? n 

And she made an instinctive movement 
towards her cousin. Her uncle stopped her. 

" Keep away from this wretched man ! " he 
cried, " for he is a coward and a traitor ; he 
has betrayed your betrothed ! " 

u Betrayed my betrothed ! " cried the girl 
with horror. " It is impossible ! " 

"Not only has he betrayed him," con- 
tinued the old man, taking his niece's hand, 
"but he is watching for the success of his 
treason. Do you recognise my son, Rosita ? Jt 
he added, with heartrending despair, '* or the 
man whom you loved ? " 

Here the poor old man broke down com- 
pletely, and sank back into his chair. The 


girl gazed at him with consternation. Even 
the rough soldiers were touched by the 
scene, and turned their heads aside* 

At that instant a loud report shook the 
walls. It was the captain's volley* The two 
"oldiers exchanged a meaning glance and 

disappeared. As soon as they went out 
Rosita threw herself in Don Pedro's arms. 

14 Dulaurier is dead ! " said the old man, 

" He is saved ! " cried Stephano, coming 
forward, and throwing from him as he did so 
the purse of gold, "Yes, father, yes, Rosita, 
the lieutenant is safe and sound, and will be 
with us in a few seconds," 

"How can that be?" cri^d Don Pedro, 
passing from despair to joy. 

"Before leaving Dulaurier in the pavilion 
we had arranged that he was to be informed 
by .i pistol shot whrn he must leavt* his 
hiding-place for the granary whilst his 
enemies were searching the pavilion. You 
understand now how the guerilla's shot 
agitated me. For 7 of course, Dulaurier, 
taking the report for the signal agreed upon, 

would leave the 
pavilion for the 
granary, and 
would then fall 
into the hands of 
his pursuers. The 
only plan to save 
him was to get 
the soldiers away 
from the granary, 
which I did by 
feigning to betray 
Dulaurier, by ac- 
cepting the purse, 
and pointing out 
the pavilion as his 
hiding-place. For 
a quarter of an 
hour I have 
endured the tor- 
tures of hell, hut 
I have saved the 
man who con- 
fided in me, and 
I am still worthy 
of you both ! * 
The young man had hardly finished his 
narrative when his father and Rosita were at his 
feet begging for forgiveness. Then Stephano 
hastened to the granary, and called the 
lieutenant's name, but there was no response, 
and soon Stephano's surprise was changed to 
uneasiness. He rushed into the granary. It 
was empty, Stephano reappeared, pale, 
tottering and breathless, 

11 Dulaurier is not in the granary, 1 ' he 

cried, *' He cannot have taken the pistol shot 

for my signal.. He must have remained, and 

that report we heard was his death-shot." 

He paused abrup:ly. Don Pedro and 



Rosita understoodi and burst forth into an 
exclamation of horror. 

" Victory ! Victory ! " cried a hundred 

Their despair and consternation were 
changed to the most lively astonishment, 
when a detachment of Don Carlos's volunteers 
entered the house, led by Dulaurier himself. 

" Dulaurier ! " exclaimed Stephano, Don 
Pedro, and Rosita at the same time. 

" Our enemies ! " said the old Castilian, 
whilst his niece shrank behind him. 

" Say rather friends," replied Dulaurier, 
pressing Stephano's hand warmly. 

" But how has all this happened ? " began 
the bewildered Stephano. 

" One minute's attention. For half an 
hour I waited patiently after your departure 
in the little pavilion, when I heard the signal 
we arranged on of the pistol shot I quitted 
my hiding-place at once, and was preparing 
to creep towards the granary, when, casting a 
glance upon the road, I recognised the uni- 
forms of the volunteers of my regiment 
Briefly," continued Dulaurier, showing the 
soldiers who surrounded him, " here are the 
gentlemen, whom I have the honour of pre- 
senting to you. Like good comrades, they 
determined to avenge me, and we caught 
the guerillas in an ambush as they were search- 
ing the pavilion. Bang ! a general discharge, 
and thirty men were lying on the ground, and 
the rest running away for their lives." 

" The volley of which we believed you the 
victim ! " interrupted Stephano. 

" You understand the rest Not wishing 
to quit Panola without thanking you, and 
also wishing to see about that little matter 
which I mentioned to you this morning, we 
came on here. And now," he added to 
Stephano, with the air of a man who has no 
time to lose, " I must thank. you most warmly 
for all you have done for me." 

There was such a tone of kindness in 
these words that Stephano could do nothing 
but grasp his hand cordially in return. 

" Anyone else ? " cried the effusive officer, 
looking quickly round. " You have a father, 
a mother, a wife, perhaps ? Where are they ? 
This noble old man must be your father," 
and upon Stephano's making an affirmative 
N sign he grasped the old man's hand, and 
wrung it with force. 

"Are there no ladies in your family?" 
asked Dulaurier with a gallant air. 

It was then that in spite of Rosita's efforts 
to avoid his attention he caught sight of her 
as she hid behind Don Pedro's high-backed 

" Ah ! here is one ! " he said, without 
recognising his betrothed. He stepped for- 
ward towards her. 

" Most amiable senora," he began politely, 

" permit me " He paused, gazing with 

stupefied eyes upon the young girl, and then 
made a sign to his soldiers to leave them. 

" Good Heavens ! " he exclaimed, " if I 
am not deceived it is Rosita, my pretty 

" You are right ; it is I, Monsieur 
Dulaurier," faltered the young girl. 

The light of happiness vanished from all 
the faces in the room except the lieutenant's. 

"You can easily understand, my pretty 
one, what has led me to Panola," said 

"I presume you have come to remind 
Rosita," answered Don Pedro, "of the 
promise that she gave you at her dying 
father's bedside. She has not forgotten it, 
senor. She recognises her duty, and you 
have only one word to say " 

" Will you answer me yourself, Rosita ? " 
interrupted Dulaurier, marking her extreme 
pallor and agitation. "You know what I 
have the right of claiming ; are you still able 
to give it me freely ? " 

"Without doubt," she murmured; "if I 
give you my hand, my heart will go with it" 

" Words, nothing but words ! " thought the 
lieutenant, who grew pale in his turn. "All 
women are weathercocks. It is clear I am 
superseded," and he bit his lip until it bled. 
" But I should like to know who is my sub- 
stitute," and he turned mechanically to 
Stephano. He found him as mute and as 
troubled as Rosita. The trujth flashed across 
him. " I cannot blame the brave young 
man," he murmured to himself, " for falling 
in love with his cousin. It has not prevented 
him from saving my life at the expense of 
his love and honour, and as I have no wish 
for a heart not wholly mine, I have now to 
render sacrifice for sacrifice, and to keep 
the reputation of France equal to that of 
Spain." He turned to Rosita with a smile. 

"Mademoiselle," he began, "when we 
plighted our troth, and I told you that I 
loved you devotedly, I was as sincere as 
I am to-day, only I took upon myself too 
much, and have contracted several other 
engagements, more or less similar to yours." 
He gave a forced laugh as he pronounced 
these words. 

" That is enough, senor," said Don Pedro. 
" But why have you then come to Panola to 
claim her promise ? A 

"Who said tlui: I was here for that pur- 

Vol. v. - 



pose?" asked Dulaurier, abruptly. Stephano, 
indeed, recollected that the Frenchman had 
not said a single word which implied that he 
came to claim Rosita's hand " I implore 
Mademoiselle Rosita to pardon me," pursued 
I hilaurier, w and I propose that we exchange 
rings again*" 

you have found it out, you are right* I dad 
come back to claim Rosita. I have always 
loved her, and have loved none but her. 
But do not breathe a word of this. Let no 
thought of my unhappiness cast a shadow 
on her life. Sacrifice for sacrifice, young man. 
France is equal to Spain, and we are quits* 


It was no sooner said than done. Dulaurier 
turned and clasped Stephano's hand again, 
and now the young man saw with apprehension 
that Dulauriers eyes were dim with tears, 
Dulaurier could keep up the farce no longer, 
and his heart was breaking behind the smile 
upon his lips. 

" Dulaurier ! " said the young man, " you 
weep : you are unhappy ! What you have 
said has been only a sublime falsehood ! 
You love Rosita — you wish to marry her — 
and if you have the generosity to renounce 
all for me, it must not be at the expense of 
your happiness. 3 ' 

"Hush 3" said Dulaurier, as he took him 
aside. " Do not undo my work. But since 

ct Farewell, brave Castilians," he cried 
aloud, u celebrate the marriage merrily : and 
let us hope that we shall never meet upon 
the battlefield of this unhappy country," 

" Farewell ! " replied Stephano, huskily. 

Dulaurier pressed Don Pedro's and 
Stephano's hands, kissed that of Rosita, 
and joined his comrades outside, 

"Wheel to the right— forward 3" he shouted, 
at the head of his battalion. 

Then came the roll of the drum, and they 
all marched past the window, 

" Rosita," said Stephano to his cousin, 
"you are free, and we are going to be 
happy; but never let us forget Lieutenant 
Dulaurier ! " 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 

U(Jh return for 
a .spice to the two spirits 
William and James, whose conversations 
we described in past numbers. Some 
readers may possibly recall how the spirit 
James, while wandering through the dark- 
ness of unoccupied Space (about five-and- 
twenty billions of eons before the commence- 
ment of Eternity), conceived a wild idea of the 
possibility of the existence of worlds — worlds 
occupied by an impracticability called 
"man." It will be recollected how the wiser 
spirit William cast well-merited ridicule upon 
this insanely impossible phantasy of a 
disordered mind ; nay, even condescended 
to crush, by perspicuous and irrefutable logic, 
the grotesque and preposterous idea- 
Very well ; it is now William's turn. 
* f James," he said one day as they chanced 
to sight each other in the awful solitude of 
Space, " I have been thinking over that world 
of yours, and your crowning absurdity, 'man/ 
Pray do not become too inflated with weak 
conceit at my condescending to think about 
such trivialities; for ihe fact Is, any subject 
of thought — however hopelessly foolish — is 
a relief amid the tediousness of Space, 
Well, I have been reflecting upon that 
characteristic which you conceive as dis- 
tinguishing your puppet £ man '—I allude to 
intelligence* I think you suggested that he 
would possess intelligence?" 

James only fidgeted uneasily, and made a 
feeble sign of affirmation, 

"Very well," continued William, "Now, 
I have been putting two and two together, 
and have found out the nature of that quality 
which you mistake for intelligence ; its true 
name is 'low cunning.' Every fresh piece of 
absurdity which you have told me touching 
the tricks of your queer creatures has sup- 
plied new evidence of this. Your creatures 
were to feed upon the substance of the 
* world } on which they lived, and, ever 
increasing in numbers, would logically in 
course of time find there was not a mouthful 
apiece. I think we agreed about that? 
Well, let us consider that period, some time 
before the creatures should actually become 
exterminated by the natural evolution of 
events— the time when all the eatable pro- 
ducts of their world would be growing scarce. 
You went so far as to imagine a great many 
products- " 

" Yes ! " said James, gazing afar off in the 
absorption of his imagination. "Yes — 
there were eggs, and oysters, and poultry, 
and mushrooms, and " 

" Ah ! — the very things I've been reflecting 
about Well, I've been dreaming that, at 
the period of which I speak, when all the 
commodities were becoming scarce, your 
human beings would agree to make poisonous 
artificial articles of consumption with which 
to poison themselves by degrees, and tlr 
reduce, its .DPpWAti^Vh (^convenient limits, 



" No ! " cried James, pondering deeply. 
" Their idea would be to poison not them- 
selves % but each other t " 

" Ah ! I see. Then they would make 
some sort of effort to prevent themselves 
being poisoned ? 7t 

u Oh, yes ; they would pass Adulteration 
Acts for the purpose." 

"I see; and any creature who did not 
wish to be poisoned could take advantage of 
these Acts to protect himself?" 

" Certainly* The Acts would be very 
stringent. Let us suppose, for example, that 
a certain man suspected that the butter 
supplied to him was not butter at all, but a 
deleterious compound— well, all he would 
have to do would be to go to the shop, 
accompanied by a guardian of the peace, 
and, standing on one leg, with both hands 
on the counter and one eye shut, order a 
pound of the butter 
in certain words pre- 
scribed by the Act, 
He would then say 
to the tradesman, ' I 
am about to divide 
this pound of butter 
into three equal por- 
tions for the purposes 
of analysis J ; and, 
taking the butter- 
man's knife in his 
left hand, and pass- 
ing it to his right, 
would cut the butter 
into three portions 
exactly equal 

" After this, her- 
metically sealing the 
three portions in 
three jars provided 
for the purpose, he 
would hand one jar 

to the tradesman the second to the guardian 
of the peace, and retain the third Then 
he would bring an action j and (provided 
that all the conditions had been accurately 
fulfilled, without the slightest flaw) the 
erring tradesman would be told by the 
Court not to do it again ; while the com- 
plainant would have to pay all costs, and 
possibly a fine ; and would be sneered 
at by the magistrate as a fussy idiot and 
a common informer 

" If, on the other hand, the complainant 
should omit to secure the company of 
a custodian of the peace, or fail to stand 
on one leg with both hands on the 
counter, or take the knife in his right 
hand first, or should leave out the pre- 
scribed words, or blink his eye, or stammer, 
or sneeze, or in any other way fail to 
observe the regulations of the Act ; he 
would, of course, have no case or remedy. 
The Adulteration Acts would be extremely 
stringent — ■— w 

11 Against the victim of adulteration ? " 
**Ye — es," murmured James, a little non- 

* 4 Ah— well, then, I think we can afford to 
ignore these Adulteration Acts — like the adul- 
terators and the public authorities would — 
and proceed with the question of the adul- 
teration. I had a most vivid vision or dream 
of the details of this adulteration as they 
would be carried out on your world at the 
period we are now considering. I imagined 
that I was actually in a part of your world 
called ' America/ and that one of your 

* Goo&le 



" wrv f* cir M 

human beings politely invited me to walk 
through his factory and see how things were 
made. I think you mentioned * oysters ' " 

" Yes," said James, " that*s one name the 
article of food would possess; newspaper 
writers, however, would not recognise them 
by that name — they would only know them 
as ' the succulent bivalve.* }J 

"The very idea!" exclaimed William. 
" That's exactly what I seemed to have be- 
come — a newspaper writer, I fancied I 
went to see the factory, and then sent in the 
following account : — 

M One of the most interest- 
ing factories in America is 
the stately building of the 
Ephraim Q, Knickerbocker 
Natural Products Manufac- 
turing Corporation, of Spread 
Eagle Springs, N.J. That 
the structure is itself an im- 
posing one may well be im- 
agined in view of the vast 
productive energy expended 
within its walls ; and the 
feebleness and inefficiency 
of the productive operations 
of Nature are never so fully 
realized as after a visit to 
this marvellous factory, and 
a comparison of the two 

" It was, therefore, with 
no little satisfaction that we 
lately received a courteous 
invitation from the able and 
energetic managing director 
General Sardanapalus J. Van 
Biene to inspect the opera- 
tions of the Corporation at 
its factory 1 . Accordingly, we 

proceeded to the New York terminus of the 
Natural Products Manufacturing Corporation's 
New York, Sumner Ferry, Thanksgiving Flats, 
and Spread Eagle Springs Railroad, along 
which a special train speedily whirled us to the 
front door of the works. On the steps stood 
the genial managing director, supported by 
the principal manager Colonel Exodus V. 
Rooster, the head chemist Major Madison 
B. Jefferson, and the assistant chemists Judge 
Vansittart J, Sumner and Admiral Hudson 
W. Killigrew. 

" They received us with open arms, and, 
after entertaining us at a rtthtrche lunch, 
conducted us to the chemistry and analysis 
section occupying a little over seventeen 
acres and employing a permanent staff of 
thirteen thousand four hundred and thirty- 
mo assistants, among whom are chemists, 
microseopists, sub-inventors, etc., etc. There 
it is that the productive operations of Nature 
are studied and improved upon. 

u * You must not imagine that we have any 
kind of sympathy or admiration for Nature's 
system/ explained General S. J. Van Biene, 
hastening to sweep away any false impres- 
si on which we might have formed. 

u 'On the contrary, we just entirely 
despise her and her ways, and should have 
discarded her way back but for the prejudices 

Original from 



of the consuming public. It's just like this 
— the consumers still believe in natural 
products, and so we have to go on reproduc- 
ing them instead of starting right away on 
our own lines and bringing out new and 
original commodities far in advance of 
anything Nature can do. How we're 
stultified you'll see as we work through* 
We just have to copy, anyway, in place of 
originating. We make oysters, for example. 
Now quite a w T hile ago, our head chemist 
Major Madison B* Jefferson invented a new 
edible way, finer in every essential than the 
oyster ; but the consumers wouldn't have it : 
they shied at it, and declared it wasn't whole- 
some ; and we had the whole stock on our 
hands, and had to vat it down again, and 
recolour it, and make tomatoes of it. Then 
they took it down and just chaired it round. 
Of course, we have to say we grow the pro- 
ducts — that's another effect of popular pre- 
judice ; if we had said we made those 
tomatoes, the public would have started right 
off again, and talked of w adulteration, 71 
although our toma- 
toes whip Nature's 
by 50 per cent in 
all the elements of 
nutrition and flavour. 
Just taste this one/ 

"We hesitated, and 
the director, perceiv- 
ing it, promptly con- 
sumed another from 
the same case. Thus 
reassured, we ven- 
tured to nibble at the 
artificial vegetable, 
and found it excellent 
in every respect — 
decidedly superior to 
the natural product, 
as he had stated, 

" ' But,' we asked, 
£ do you not suffer 
con s i d era ble losses 
when these products 
— nece ssari ly pe ri s h- 
able in the natural course of things — begin 
to decay ? ' 

'* ' That's just another point where we show 
our superiority to Nature. Our products 
da tit decay ; on the contrary, they improve 
by keeping. Here is a tomato seven years 
old,' he continued, taking down another case. 
'Try it' 

i% We did* The other was not to be com- 
pared with it. The older tomato had matured 
and mellowed, the skin having a finer colour 


and lovelier gloss, the flesh possessing a 
firmer body and more delicate flavour; it 
was far in advance of any tomato we had 
ever conceived. 

" * Wonderful ! ' we exclaimed. 
" ' A very simple matter,' said the director. 
* All that is required is a thorough mastery of 
chemistry. In all our goods we employ a 
special patent preservative of our own, which 
is naturally a secret We calculate it to be 
worth one hundred and fifty quadrillions of 

M fc But let us show you how we make 
oysters ! See, these are the tanks which 
contain the mixture — the compound which 
forms the body of the bivalve. This tank 
contains the beard-mixture ; and this one the 

" 'And what are the principal ingredients?* 
" * Glue, made from horses 1 heels. This is 
a very important factor in our products. 
This glue, after undergoing a peculiar treat- 
ment which prevents its hardening and losing 
its elasticity in the course of year s, is flavoured 

and coloured in var- 
ious ways. This great 
tank contains the 
composition for the 
internal parts of the 
oyster — nearly black, 
you perceive ; that 
tank over there con- 
tains the compound 
for the flesh that 
covers the internal 
parts; that tank 
farther along holds 
the beard - mixture ; 
and the one beyond 
that the gristle which 
attaches the oyster to 
the shell. First, the 
flesh of the oyster 
is run into moulds, 
each oyster being in 
two parts ; then the 
inside of the animal 
is run into another 
mould, and the two halves of the body are 
automatically placed around it and cemented 

il { Meanwhile the beards have been rolled, 
stamped, frilled, and coloured along the edge 
by special automatic machinery. The body 
of the oyster then passes to the fixing-up 
room, where the beard is cemented to it by 
hand, and finishing touches of colour added ; 
and then it pisses along and has the gristle 
attadie^HfrtAfl^tflyaiSliRelf is complete.' 



* A But it wants a shell ! J 

*' i Just so* As far as the supply will go, 
we buy up old shells from dustyards and use 
them ; but most of them are damaged by 
previous opening, so we make the bulk of our 
shells, and they're a good deal more natural 
than the real ones. They're made of lime.' 

"< All alike? 1 

"'Not in the least You see, we have 
some thousands of moulds, every one differ- 
ing slightly from the rest There's a special 
department for hingeing the two shells 
together We had some trouble to find a 
substance for the hinge ; but at last one of 
our chemists hit on a way of subjecting old 
hide-scraps to a peculiar process, and that did 
the thing. The mother-of-pearl is made of a 
sort of soft glass, so me what after theappearance 
of Venetian glass, and put on the shell hot. 
Lastly, the oyster is attached to the shells by 
its cartilage ; a little liquor is put in, and the 
shells are closed up.' 

41 1 But surely people must observe that they 
are not alive ? ' we said. l For instance, they 
can't open their shells ! ' 

" 'That's just where you're astray,' replied 
the General 'Owing to the mechanical 
action of salt upon the composition of the 
cartilage, the oyster opens when placed in 

salt water. Iron, however, exercises 
an electro-magnetic influence upon the 
composition forming the body of the 
bivalve, causing a sudden contraction 
— so that, on a knife being introduced 
into the shell, the latter closes in the 
most natural way. We manufacture 
pearls on the premises, and advertise 
that one oyster in every gross taken 
from our beds contains a pearl of 
more or less value ; and there's a 
greater demand for our oysters than 
foT any others in the world* Our 
oyster beds are way down along the 
coast, about ten miles off; and are 
inspected by thousands yearly. Taste 
this egg.* 

"He took up a fine specimen of 
a new-laid egg, and proceeded to 
break it into a glass. It was a de- 
lightful egg. 'That's our latest pattern 
of egg/ explained the General 'You 
perceive that it has three lines around 
it, where the substance of the shell is 
weaker than elsewhere ; the lines near 
each end enable a person about to 
consume the egg in a boiled state to 
easily cut off the top or bottom with 
a knife, or run his nail around it ; 



while the line about the middle greatly 
assists cooks in breaking it into a basin. 
There is also a thin spot at either end, to 
facilitate sucking. These eggs are always 
new-laid ; we send tons to Europe, par- 
ticularly to Great Britain, where ours are the 
only fjtol.He^liNfeVE^iF'geL' 



" k But you must find some difficulty in 
making an egg?' 

t( ' Just as easy as smiling. The white is 
simply jelly-fish subjected to a chemical 
process — jelly-fish aren f t costly. This tank 
is full of the liquor. The main ingredient of 
the yolk is the horse-heel glue mentioned 
before ; we also boil down vast quantities of 
rats — they come cheap ? too ; it's only the cost 
of catching them ; and then there's a vegetable 
colouring, and the preservative, and a few other 
trifles. First, the two halves of the white are 
made in two moulds, and frozen ; then the two 
frozen halves are frozen together, and the 
yolk-mixture poured in through a small hole, 
which is then closed- Then 
comes the skin ; and that is 
the most expensive part, for 
it contains a certain quantity 
of rubber. We have tried in 
vain to find a substitute for 
rubber, but failed hitherto. 
The rubber is mixed with a 
gum from a South American 
tree, and the mixture is 
applied with a brush over 

the frozen egg ; and then the egg, still frozen, 
is dipped in a lime composition very nearly 
identical with the oyster-shell mixture; and, 
lastly, the whole thing is passed through 
the finishing machine, which turns the three 
thin lines and the two thin spots, imitates the 
pores of the shell, and delivers the finished 
egg to the warehouse/ 

" * Marvellous ! J we involuntarily exclaimed, 
(i * Oh, that's nothing at all,' said the direc- 
tor. ' We're meditating turning out eggs that 
will hatch and become fowls. At present we 
have to manufacture fowls ; but we calculate 
to make a great saving by producing them 
from the eggs we make. That building over 
yonder is the terrapin factory ; w r e turn out 
eleven tons of terrapin weekly. We make 
clams, of course in the oyster department. 
In this next house we make kidneys and 
sweetbreads. Fruit ? Oh, yes, we turn out 
masses of fruit ; peaches pay best, but we do 
very well with nuts/ 

*'We were then conducted to the show- 
room, where we tasted a number of other 
products of the wonderful factory ; and we 
had just said a grateful farew-ell to our 
courteous guide, when we were seized with 
pains of the most acute description, 

"The arrangements of the hospital were 
admirable. The kindliness and attention we 
received made our five years' sojourn there a 
time to look back upon with feelings of 
gratitude. We are assured that> with strict 
diet and unremitting care, we may last some 
time yet — possibly even three months." 

*'It was a marvellous 
vision," said James, fer- 
vently, as the voice of 
W i Ilia m ceased- ( f Surely 
after that you must think 
better of those beings of 
mine ? if 

William merely 


J, F. Sullivan, 


Original from 



The above photographs represent two views of an extraordinary turnip grown by Alderman David Evans, 
Llangennech Park, Carmarthenshire. We are indebted for the photographs to Mr. Morgan W. James, of 
Lla nelly. 

The above photograph represents the study of Mr. C. Whitfield King, of Morpeth House, Ipswich, which 
hti has j jape red with 44,068 unused foreign postage stamps, bearing the value of £699 i6s. OxL, and containing 
4S varieties of different sizes and colours, presenting an example irf j ffTOSRH Yffljh 'Tt^lVV* a ' to B pt ' er Hflalqtte °^ 

its kind. 

Vol. ,.-42. 

32 2 


Ori g i n a I fjgflfc.,, e A ^A „ J 






•Original from 




k Cnrtnli* Original from 


by Google 

Original from 


The Prince of fVales at Sandringham. 

[The Prime of Walts is 9 of course t precluded by his position from granting interu f iews like private persons \ 
but His Royal Highness has been so good as to give us special permission to insert the following extremely 
interesting article* which we are happy to be able to present to our readers in place of the Illustrated Interview 
for the present month* The next of the series of Illustrated Interviews , by Mr. Harry How t will appear next 
month. Sir Robert Rawlinson* the celebrated engineer \ whose work sotted so many lives in the Crimea* has 
given Air, How a most interesting interview) with special illustrations. ] 

we seen them in 
squeezed into 


AR from the busy haunt of 
man " might be fitly applied 
to Sandringham; so quiet, 
and so secluded, is this 
favourite residence of the heir 
to England's throne and his 
beautiful and universally esteemed wife. 

Not an ancient castle with tower and moat, 
not a show place such as woutd charm a 
merchant prince, but beautiful in its sim- 
plicity and attractive in its homeliness ; yet 
withal, clothed in the dignity inseparable 
from its owners and its associations ; in short, 
a happy English home, inhabited by a typical 
English family. 

How often have 
country lanes all 
wagonette, look- 
ing like a jolly 
village squire and 
his family; or 
watched the young 
Princes and Prin- 
cesses careering 
round the park on 
their favourite 
steeds, and listened 
to their merry laugh- 
ing voices as they 
emulated each other 
to come in winner ! 
When at Sand- 
ringham, State and 
its duties, society 
and its require- 
ments, are relegated 
to the dim past and 
shadowy future ; 
and our Prince is a 
country gentleman, 
deep in agriculture 
and the welfare of 
his tenantry ; and 
his wife and child- 
ren pass their time 
in visiting the 
schools, the poor, 
and the sick, work- 

.! * j - ir.K.I*. THtv PR]! 

mg in their dairy, ********* 

or at their sketching, art and useful needle- 
work, etc. 

Fortunately, the estate is above seven 
miles from King's Lynn, its nearest town, so 
that the family are not subjected to the 
prying gaze of the curious. They have not, 
however, the inconvenience of this long drive 
from the railway station, as there is one at 
Wolferton, a little village of about forty 
houses, on the estate, and between two and 
three miles from the " House." 

In 1883 the Prince added a suite of 
waiting-rooms to the building already there : 
the addition consisting of a large entrance- 
hall, approached by a covered carriage way, 
with rooms on either side for the Prince and 
Princess. These rooms are handsomely and 

tastefully furnished, 
and are used not 
only as waiting- 
rooms, but oc- 
casionally for lun- 
cheon, when the 
Prince and his 
guests are shooting 
in the vicinity of 
Wolferton* The 
station lies in a 
charming valley, 
and emerging from 
its grounds, you 
have before you a 
picturesque drive 
along a well gra- 
velled road, bor- 
dered with velvety 
turf, and backed 
with fir, laurel, pine 
and gorse. 

Rabbits in hun- 
dreds are popping 
hither and thithur, 
pheasants are flying 
over your head, 
squirrels aTe scam- 
pering up and down 
trees, there are 
sounds of many 
feathery songsters 

Vol, v. -43, 


W. £ P. Doimen* 



in the branches ; while if you pause awhile, 
you may catch the distant murmur of the 
sea — certainly you can feel its breezes; 
and you seem to get the beauty of the 
Highlands, the grandeur of the sea, and the 
very pick of English scenery, all in one 
extensive panorama. The view from the 
heights is beyond description : an uninter- 
rupted outlook over the North Sea, and a 
general survey of such wide range, that on 
clear days the steeple or tower of Boston 
church (familiarly known as " Boston Stump *) 
can be plainly seen. 

Proceeding on your way, you pass the 
park boundary wall, the residence of the 
comptroller, the rectory, the little church of 
St Mary Magdalene, with its flag waving in 
the breeze denoting the family are in resi- 
dence — take a sudden curve in the road, and 
find yourself in front of the Norwich gates, 
admitting to the principal entrance. A 
solitary policeman is here on guard, but he 
knows his business, and knows every member 
of the household by sight; and though his 
duty consists in merely opening and shutting 
the gates, you may he quite sure he will not 
open to the wrong one* 

These gates arc worthy of more than a 
passing glance, for they are a veritable mas- 
terpiece of design and mechanism. They 
were, in fact, one of the features of the 1862 
Exhibition, and were afterwards presented to 
the Prince by the County of Norwich. On 

~ a rom a Ptota to) 


the top is the golden crown, supported by 
the Prince's feathers. Underneath, held by 
bronzed griffins, are heraldic shields repre- 
senting the various titles of the Prince, while 
the remainder is composed of flowers, sprays, 
and creeping vines. They are connected with 
the palisading by rose, shamrock and thistle. 
The maker was Barnard, of Norwich- 

Although this is the chief entrance, it is 
necessary to proceed up the avenue and 
diverge to the left, before the front of the 
building comes into view; then it will be 
s^en to be of modernized Elizabethan archi- 
tecture ; exterior, red brick, with Ketton-stone 
dressing. Over the door is a caned inscrip- 
tion as follows: "This house was built hy 
Albert Edward Prince of Wales and 
Alexandra his wife, in the year of Our Lord, 
1S70/' As a matter of fact, the estate had 
been purchased nine years previous to that 
date, for a sum of ^£2 20,000, but the Old 
Manor House was in such a condition that, 
after vainly trying to patch up and add on 
to, it was found desirable to pull it all down, 
and build an entirely new residence. Not only 
did the mansion need re-building, but also 
the cottages of the tenants and labourers ; 
and much to the honour of the Prince and 
Princess, these cottages were their first care, 
and were all re-built and several new ones 
erected before they took possession of "their 
own home. 

An invitation to Sandringham is an honour 

wh i eh few w o u Id 
lightly regard ; 
and if it is your 
firstvisit you are 
in a flutter of an- 
ticipation and 
ex pectati on, 
making it some- 
what difficult to 
preserve the 
calm exterior 
that society de- 
mands of you. 
Now there are 
two distinct sets 
invited there ; 
one from Fri- 
day to Monday, 
and one from 
Monday or 
Tuesday to Fri- 
day; the former 
generally includ- 
ing a bishop, 
T'fclean, or canon 
for the Sunday 




service, two or three eminent statesmen, and a 
sprinkling of musical, literary, and artistic 
celebrities. To this list I will suppose you 
to belong. 

You have found carriages and baggage 
vans awaiting what is known as the " Royal 
train *' — a special run just when the Prince 
is in residence — and you and your fellow- 
visitors have driven up to the principal 
entrance. There you alight, and are ushered 
by the footmen into a spacious hall or saloon, 
where you are received with the distinguished 
grace and courtesy for which your Royal 
host and hostess are so justly celebrated. 

the tiniest of continental masterpieces, is 
kept half an hour fast The ringing-out of 
the hour thirty minutes before you expect it 
is startling in the extreme ; and your maid 
or man has a bad time of it until you 
discover the discrepancy. 

At last, however, you are ready, and in 
due time find yourself amidst the company 
in the grand dining saloon, where dinner is 
served in state, although not with the frigid 
formality one is inclined to expect A certain 
degree of nervousness must be felt by all on 
the first occasion they dine with Royalty ; but 
your host and hostess are so extremely 

JVirtu d Pkatik tftt\ 


\RcdfvriI Lemtre. 

You have only time for a rapid glance at 
the massive oak carving and valuable paint- 
ings (chief of which is one portraying the 
family at afternoon tea, by Zichy) before 
you find yourself being conducted to the 
handsome suite of apartments you will occupy 
during your visit A cup of tea and some 
light refreshment, and the dinner-hour being 
7.30 it is time to prepare, If you have not 
been here before, let me give you a word of 
warning, or you will commit the dreadful sin 
of unpunctuality. Every clock on the place, 
from the loud-voiced one over the stables to 

affable, and have such a happy gift of putting 
people at their ease, that you insensibly 
forget their aqgust position, and find yourself 
chatting with comfort and enjoyment You 
will notice the splendid proportions of this 
saloon, and the priceless Spanish tapestry 
with which it is hung — this was the gift of the 
King of Spain to the Prince. There is also a 
magnificent display of plate, much of it 
presentation. The tables are oblong, the 
Prin^,^fi4.|^ififflf?^Dl!^fi n g eac h other at the 

centre ; the tlo<it J -^- l a^-i l i l e l most of them — is of 
polished oak, this one being freely scattered 



fr'rom a Fhito, hp\ 


[lifid/brd JjTiwrtii 

with costly Turkish nigs. I may here men- 
tion that adjoining this saloon is a spacious 
ante-room, containing a fine collection of 
tigers' skins, elephants' tusks, eta : a good 
record of the travels of His Royal 
Highness, of much interest to travellers 
and sportsmen. 

When you presently adjourn to the draw- 
ing-rooms — of which there are a suite of 
small ones in addition to the large one — you 
will find there is no lack of entertainment 
and amusement ; such, indeed, as must suit 
the most varied tastes. First, however, 
we will take some note of the rooms them- 
selves. These (the drawing-rooms) are all 
connected with the entrance-hall by a broad 
corridor, which is ornamented with pieces of 
armour, ancient china, stuffed birds, etc. ; 
they face the lakes, and are on the western 
or front of the building, opening on to the 

The large drawing-room is of beautiful 
construction, fitted with windows reaching 
from ceiling to floor. The walls are panelled 
with pink and blue, with mouldings of gold 
and cream. The furniture is upholstered in 
pale blue, with threads of deep crimson 

and gold ; the hangings are of rich 
chenille; the floor of polished oak T with 
rich Indian rugs distributed here and 
there. A plentiful scattering of music and 
books gives it a home-like appearance, while 
hand embroidery, sketches, painting on 
china, and feather screens show the variety 
of talent and skill of the ladies of the family, 
In the very centre of the room is a large 
piece of rock work, with a tasteful arrange- 
ment (carried out under the care of the 
Princess herself) of choice ferns and beauti- 
ful roses in bloom, while rising out of the 
midst is a marble figure of Venus. The 
principal conservatory opens from this room. 
It is rich in palms and ferns, and contains a 
monument of art to Madame Jerichau, the 
sculptress, in the shape of a group of bathing 

Meanwhile, whatever amusement is to be 
the order has by this time commenced ; 
perhaps it is music — the ladies of the family 
are all good musicians — perhaps it is tableaux 
vivantSy or possibly a carpet dance. If your 
tastes do not lie in. these directions, or after 
you have ^fljjfl^^ time, 

you have the choice of using the billiard- 



33 r 


pfvin a Photo, hit) 


[Betifard L&mtr*. 

room, the American bowling alley, or the smok- 
ing-rooms. The billiard-room will interest 
you vastly : it is literally lined with arms 
of aH descriptions. The tables, of course, 
are of the best. 

Another room you may perhaps find your 
way to to-night is the "Serapis " room ; it is 
half library and half smoking-room ; in it 
you will see the entire fittings of the cabin 
the Prince occupied on his journey to India, 

p'rmn it PhtiUi. hp] 


| ftrrlfurd /iTfllrrff. 



Frvm a Photo- ftp J 


[itfd/urd i>mera. 

in the vessel of the above name. One thing 
you may rest assured of — that neither on this 
evening nor at any other time while at 
Sandringham will you know a dull moment. 

In the morning you will find breakfast 
served at nine o'clock in the dining saloon. 
As, however, the Prince and Princess gene- 
rally take theirs in their private apartments, 
there is no formality, and you do not feel 
bound to the punctuality imperative when 
you meet their Royal Highnesses, 

Perhaps you have letters to write ; and I 
may as well here remark that the postal 
arrangements are first-rate. There- is a post- 
office in side the house , which is also a money 
order office. Three deliveries per day 
come in that way, while mounted men meet 
the trains at Wolferton Station. There is 
also telegraphic communication with Central 
London, King's Lynn, and Marlborough 
House ; and telephone to Wulferton Station, 
the stud farm, agents, bailiff, etc. 

Before proceeding to out-doorsights — which 
will not be possible very early, as your host 
has a multiplicity of business to get through 
— you had better take the opportunity of 
seeing some of the rare and beautiful treasures 
indoors. Of course, all are aware of the 

extensive travels of the Prince in many 
countries, and will, therefore, expect to find 
many mementos of the same in his home ; 
but I think few are prepared to find them so 
numerous and so valuable; Not only does 
one see them here and there in various 
directions, but one room of considerable 
dimensions is set apart altogether for them, 
and a day could be profitably spent in their 
inspection- It is not only their costliness 
and their beauty, but the associations which 
make them of so much interest This one 
was presented by the King of this place ; this 
one by Prince So-and-so; this by such a 
town, and this by such an order or society, 
until the vision is quite dazzled with beauty. 

Perhaps as a strong contrast you may get 
a peep at the Prince's morning-room, a 
room plainly and usefully fitted and fur- 
nished in light oak. There you will see such 
a batch of correspondence that you will be 
inclined to wonder when it will be got 
through, but the Prince is a capital business 
man, and nothing is lost sight of. 

The libraries must not be overlooked ; 
there are quite a suite ok r them, well stocked 
with English ■andNIWflSA'RY literature more 
particularly. A large number will be noticed 



i>v»i « Photo* Of] 

'I LfK ui'oL;,VA|i^Y, 

l/W/oni Lf»i£T& 

as presentation volumes, in handsome and 
unique bindings. One of these rooms also 
contains many me- 
mentos of travel 
and sport in vari- 
ous climes. 

Two additional 
stories have within 
the last few weeks 
been completed 
over the bowling 
alley and billiard- 
room, making a 
total of about 
eighteen apart- 
mentSj henceforth 
to be known as 
* - The Bachelors? . J 

For some years 
the large hall at the 
entrance was made 
to do duty for a 
ball-room, and no 
mean one either ; 
ijut the Prince 
thinking it not quite 
so commodious as jjy^ fl Phok 

he would wish, he, some nine years ago, had 
a new and larger one built This, and one 


» Vol. v. 



From a l%Au. VI 


or two other rooms, really constitute a new 
wing. The turret of this wing has just been 
raised, in order to place therein a clock 
purchased by the local tradesmen as a 
memorial to the late Duke of Clarence and 
AvondaJe. The ball-room is of immense 
size and lofty construction, with fine bay 

windows at either 
end, and large 
alcoves on either 
side, one contain- 
ing a magnificent 
fire-place, and the 
other windows. 
The walls are 
artistic triumphs, 
being finely 
painted in deli- 
cate colours, and 
on them arranged 
a fine collection of 
Indian trophies. 
The floor is of 
oak, and kept in 
such a condition 
of polish as to be 
a pitfall and snare 
to any dancer not 
in constant 
practice. More 
than one or two 
couples have been 
known to sud- 
denly subside, even in the most select of 
the select circles there assembled. 

If during your visit one of the annual 
balls should take place, you are most fortu- 
nate. Thure are three of such — the 
"County," the "Tenants'," and the "Ser- 
vants'/ 1 the first, of course, bringing the eiitt; 

| Ifcf/onl £etfi£."& 



Fmn* Fkoftt.hy] 


[Btilford Lemtrt. 




/V^iji u Photo. itjt\ 


\ UoJfvrd Ltmtrt. 

but the two latter sometimes presenting 
a curious mixture. The tenants, I may say, 
are allowed to introduce a limited number 
of friends, a privilege highly valued, and 
much sought after by the most remote 
acquaintance of each and every tenant on 
the estate, A most wonderful display of 
colours distinguishes these Norfolkites, bright 
of hue, too, and more often than not dames 
of fifty got up in the style of damsels of 

And what appetites these yeomen and 
■cattle-dealers have got, to be sure ! And if you 
had a few tramps across the u Broads " you 
would not wonder at it, for hunger is soon 
the predominant feeling. The dancing, too, 
is a study ; country dances, reels, and jigs 
following each other in such quick succession, 
that the band in the gallery at the far end do 
not have any too easy a time of it. Through 
•everything, the same kindly interest is dis- 
played by the Royal host and hostess ; their 
interest never wanes, and their courtesy never 
flags 3 but everyone is noticed, and made to 
feel as much at their ease as it is possible for 
them to be. 

Perhaps the servants' ball is as pretty a 
sight as one could see in the room- — the 
toilettes of the Royal Family and their 
visitors, the rich state liveries of the footmen, 
the scattering of Highland costumes, the 
green and buff of the gamekeepers, and the 
<;aps of the maidservants, all blending into 

an ever - moving 
kaleidoscope, pic- 
turesque in the 

Few that are 
familiar with Sand- 
ringham can enter 
this room without 
thinking of the 
occasion when the 
proud and loving 
mother entered* 
leaning on the arm 
of her eldest boy, 
on the day he at- 
tained his majority. 
The fairest and 
bravest of all Eng- 
land were there 
assembled to do 
him honour ; and 
from all parts of 
the world " happy 
returns " and long 
life were wished 
for he whom all 
future King* Some 
of this home must 

regarded as their 
of the associations 
of necessity be saddening, but on the other 
hand, much must remind of many little acts 
of kindness and loving attentions paid ; and 
were this a biography of the late Prince, 
many little anecdotes of his great thought- 
fulness for those around him might be told ; 
but his monument will be in the memories 
of all who knew him. 

To return, however, to description. After the 
Prince has dispatched his necessary business, 
he generally takes his visitors round to view the 
park, gardens, model farm, stables, kennels, 
or whatever His Royal Highness thinks may 
interest them most If you arc an enthusiast 
in farming, you will be immensely interested 
in the 600 acres of land farmed on scientific 
principles. Every known improvement in 
machinery, etc., is introduced, with results of 
as near perfection as possible in crops, The 
Prince looks a genuine farmer, as he tramps 
through the fields in true Norfolk garb of 
tweed and gaiters; and it docs not require 
much attention to find from his conversation 
that he quite understands what he is talking 
about ; so it behoves one to rub up his 
weak points in this direction. 

In the stables all are disposed to linger; 
every one iftf=||(|[ think) sixty stalls being 

Princess's stable — a smaller one adjoining; 

33 6 


this is tiled white and green, with stalls 
ornamented in silver* Here are some charm- 
ing ponies driven by Her Royal Highness, 
and her favourite mare Vera, On this mare, 
accompanied by her children on their 
mounts j the Princess may often be met in the 
lanes around Sandringham, occasionally also 
driving in a little pony carriage, and in both 
cases almost unattended 

The kennels come next in order r they 
contain dogs of every breed from all parts of 
the land. The younger members of the family 
especially have many pets — cats, dogs, and 

a more distant inspection. To-day it is fine r 
and so we commence with emerging on to the- 
west terrace, and into the western gardens. 

The terraces are very handsome, and many 
of the rooms open on to them from French 
windows or conservatories. First you will 
notice a Chinese joss-house or temple, made 
of costly metal, guarded on either side by 
two huge granite lions from Japan, all of 
them the gifts to the Prince of Admiral 

The gardens are tastefully and artistically" 
laid out, with such a wildness, yet with such 

From a i*fo?(o. by} 

birds; indeed, one of the first things you 
notice on your arrival is a parrot in the 
entrance saloon, that invariably greets you 
with calling for u three cheers for the Queen ! " 
It is now nearly luncheon time (1.30), and 
here you all meet again ; some of the ladies 
perhaps having been honoured the first part 
of the day by spending some time with the 
Princess. Generally speaking, but not 
always, their Royal Highnesses join the 
party for lunch ; but in any case, after that 
meal, forces are united, and the company 
entire start off, sometimes on foot, connmenc- 
**h gardens, sometimes in carriages for 

[lied 'or J Lumen. 

a wealth of shrubs and pines, aided by arti- 
ficial rockwork, a cave, and a rushing cascade, 
that one might well imagine one was in 
another country. 

The Alpine gardens contain flowers and 
ferns of the choicest; and you presently 
emerge on the shores of a lake of consider^ 
able size. Here boating in the summer and 
skating in Lhe winter may be indulged in r 
the latter, especially by torchlight, being a 
most attractive sight The illuminations in 
the trees around, the flaring torches, the 
lights fixed IttfBlMJA^^/fiSSIfF^; glide about 
like will o' the wisps, and the villagers (wha 





are always invited) standing around, make 
up a picture not easily forgotten. This lake 
has recently been supplemented by the 
excavation of another in the centre cf the 
park, a running stream connecting the two. 

Chief, or almost chief, of the Sar.dringham 
outdoor sights is a famous avenue of trees* 
At some future time this avenue will be of 
even more interest than it is now, and will 
become, in fact, historical ; for every tree there 
has been planted by some personage of note. 
On each one you will notice a neat label, 
stating name of 
planter and date of 
planting, chief of 
the names being 
Queen Victoria and 
the Empress 

The model dairy 
is a picture; but 
here again the pre- 
ference must be 
given to that owned 
by the Princess, It 
h^6. Swiss cottage, 
containing five 
rooms, one of the 
five being a very 
pretty tea-room, and 
here Her Royal 
Highness some- 
times favours her 
friends with the 
tE cup that cheers, ,J 
often, too, cutting 
bread and butter 
and cake with her 
own fair hands. 
Moreover, the same 
hands have often 
made the butter 
that is used — as 
each of the ladies of 
the family is skilled 

in dairy management, and capable of turning 
out a good honest pat of creamy Norfolk. 
Merry times they have had in this cottage, 
arrayed in apron and sleeves, doing the real 
work) not merely giving directions. 

You would not be in any of the villages 
long before you saw some of the children 
attending some one of the various schools, 
clad in their scarlet and Royal blue ; they 
look very comfortable and picturesque. There 
is a first-rate technical school, in addition to 
the ordinary ones of each village. The first 
was founded by the Princess herself, and in 
each of them Her Royal Highness and her 

Ffum a Photo, by M\ it D Dutcncjf. 

children take a deep interest; often visiting 
them, taking classes, and asking questions. 
These schools, then, are shown you this 
afternoon j and, as a matter of course, you 
proceed from there to the Working Men's 
Club — one of which is established in each 
village- These are cpen to men above 
the age of fourteen,* Billiards, bagatelle, 
draughts, etc., are provided, and there is 
a good stock of newspapers and books. 
Refreshments may be obtained of good 
quality, and for a small outlay; and every- 
thing is done that 
can be done to 
make the men com- 
fortable. Does it 
keep them from the 
public-house ? you 
ask. Well there is 
not such a thing 
known as a public- 
house on the Prince** 
estate. A man can 
get his glass of ale 
at the club— good 
in quality and low 
in figure — but he 
cannot get enough 
to send him home 
the worse for com- 
ing ; so drunken- 
ness is unknown in 
the villages. 

On Sunday morn- 
ing everybody goes 
to the little church 
of St Mary Mag- 
dalene, in the park. 
The Prince and 
Princess set the 
example by their 
regular and punctual 
attendance — the 
Princess and ladies 
generally driving, 
the Prince and gentlemen walking by pri- 
vate footway, A quiet, peaceful spot it is, 
entered by a lych-gate and surrounded by 
a small "God's acre." If you are wise, you 
have come early enough to look round. 
Simplicity is stamped on everything, there 
not being a single imposing monument 
there, Several stones have been erected by 
the Prince in memory of faithful servants of 
the household, and there are also several 
placed there by the former proprietors of the 
estate. iRB'SHllt^B 1 are most attracted is 


extract from the printed 

in.ll men ; but is an actual 

1 Small 
rules hanging in the clubs. 



the resting-place of the third Royal son. 
No costly sepulchre, but a simple grassy 
mound, surrounded by gilt iron railings with 
a plain headstone, recording the name and 
date of birth and death of the infant Prince, 
and the words " Suffer little children to 
come unto Me " added. 

The church itself is of ancient date, and 
has been twice restored and enlarged by the 
Prince. It has a font of early times, and 
some half-dozen stained glass windows. The 
Prince has caused several monuments, busts, 

ing inscription : i( To the glory of God* A 
thank-offering for His mercy, 14th December, 
1 87 1- * When I was in trouble, I called upon 
the Lord 3 and He heard me. 3 " 

The space for worshippers is limited, and 
is generally quite filled by the household. 
The Royal Family occupy carved oak seats in 
the nave. The organ is a very fine one, par- 
ticularly sweet in tone, and is situated in the 
rear of the building; it is presided over by a 
very able musician, who is also responsible 
for the choir — this consisting of school 

From a Photo, by] 


I litd/ord Lfinsrz, 

£tc, to be placed there, conspicuous being 
fcusts to the late Princess Alice and the 
Emperor Frederick, a medallion to the late 
Duke of Albany, a stained glass window to 
the infant Prince, and monuments to the 
Revs. W. L. Onslow and G. Browne* The 
most noticeable of anything there, how- 
■ever ? is a very handsome brass lectern, 
placed by the Princess as a thank-offering 
for the recovery of the Prince from his 
dangerous illness of typhoid fever. The 
event is within the memory of most pf 
us, and needs only a brief notice to recall 
the national anxiety that was displayed on 
the occasion. The lectern bears the follow- 

children, grooms, gardeners, etc* The sing- 
ing is really good* 

I have heard down there of a former 
organist, who was not a great musician, and, 
in fact, was more at home In the village 
shop, of which he was proprietor. Sunday 
after Sundav he made the most awful 
mistakes, and, in consequence, was continu- 
ally warned of his probable dismissal. The 
Princess, with her invariable kindness, had 
been the cause of his staying so long as he 
had ; but one Sunday the climax was reached 
and the Rft}^KiW^5R^^-(wrfy exhausted. 
Mr, Gladsro^(xWn W on a visit, 

and his solemn, grim countenance as he 




From a Photo, by }V. rf D. Dovcnty. 

stood in the church 

poor man, inasmuch 


quite frightened the 

as he lost his head 

The organ left off in the chants, 

persisted in playing in the prayers, and 
altogether acted in such an erratic manner, 
that it was no wonder that anger was depicted 
on one countenance, sorrow on another, and 
amusement on a few of the more youthful 
ones ! The old institution had to give way 
to a new, however, and a repetition of such 
performances was thus avoided. 

The Sunday afternoon is quietly spent in 
the house or grounds ; then in the evening 
some may, perhaps, drive to West Newton or 
Wolferton Church- the Prince, Princess and 
family often do — while others may prefer to 
stay in for music or reading. 

On your way to either place you cannot 
but notice the prosperous look of the villages 
and villagers, pointing unmistakably to the 
certainty of a good landlord. Had you 
longer time here, you would hear many an 
anecdote of the kindness and generosity of 
the Prince and the goodness of the Princess 
and her daughters. Hardly a cottager but 
has some anecdote to tell you of the 

family : how the Princess visits the sick 
and afflicted, talking to them, reading 
to them, and helping them in their needs. 
Every child seems to know and to love 
the u beautiful lady/' and every man and 
woman seems almost to worship her; 
and if you heard the anecdotes I have 
heard there, you would not wonder at it 
"Think o' they R J yal Highnesses" — 
they would say — " making o J things wi* 
their own } ands fer sich as us! Did 
yew ever heerd tell o T sich, says I ; none 
o 3 ycr frames and frimmicks (airs and 
graces) wP they." And then they would 
go on with their "says I" and " says 
she,' 3 and tell you all about summer 
flower shows for villagers, treats on 
Royal birthdays, invitations to sec sights 
in the park, how the family have given a 
wedding present to this one, what they 
have brought or sent the other one when 
ill j and so on, and so on, until you come 
to think what a pity it is a few land- 
owners, with their wives and families, 


from a Photo, by IK. it R Domufr 

cannot come here for the lessons so many 
need, and see how well this family interpret 
the words: "Am I my brother's keeper?" 

Sandringham has saddening associations for 
its owners, but "Joy cometh in the morning," 
and as we take our farewell of this favourite 
residence of the Prince and Princess, we will 
wish them a bright Jjutjure and continuance 
of good health to enjoy their Norfolk home* 

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver. 

By Charles J, Mans ford, B,A. 

RE you awake, sahibs?" 
questioned Hassan, our 
guide* as he eagerly roused 
us from sleep one night. 
"The Hunted Tribe of 
Three Hundred Peaks is 
about its deadly work ! Listen ! " 

'listen i ,f 

We sat up and leant forward as he spoke, 
straining our ears to catch the slightest sound. 
Across the plain which stretched before us 
came at intervals a faint cry, which sounded 
like the hoot of a night bird. 

ik That is their strange signal," continued 
the Arab, 

We rose, and, going to the doo; of the 
tent, scanned the wide plain, bu J ; could see 
no human being crossing it. 

"You are mistaken *Ks time, Hassan," 
said Denviers. "What you heard was an 
owl hooting." 

"The sahi*j it is who misjudges," answered 

the Arab, calmly. " I have heard the warn- 
ing note of the tribe before," 

11 It seems to come from the direction of 
Ayuthia," I interposed, pointing to where the 
faint outlines of the spires of its pagodas rose 
like shadows under the starlit sky, 

"It comes from beyond Ayuthia," re^ 
sponded Hassan, whose keen sense of hear- 
ing was so remarkable; "and is as far 
away as the strange city built on the 
banks round a sunken ship, which we- 
saw as we floated down the Meinanu 
Hist I I hear the signal again !" 

Once more wo listened, 
but that time the cry came 
to us from a different- 

11 It is only an owl' 
hooting," repeated Den- 
viers, "which has now 
flown to some other part 
of the plain and is hidden, 
from us by one of the 
ruined palaces, which seemi 
to rise up like ghosts in 
the moonlight. If Hassan 
means to wake us up every 
time he hears a bird 
screech we shall get little- 
enough rest. I'm going: 
t3 lie down again." He* 
entered the tent, followed I 
by us^ and stretching 
himself wearily was asleep 
a few minutes after this,, 
while Hassan and I sat conversing together;, 
for the strange, b: id-like cry prevented me* 
from following Den viers 5 example. 

" Coot I Coot!" came the signal again, and 
in spite of my companion's opinion I felt 
forced to agree with the Arab that there was 
something more than a bird hooting, for at 
times I plainly heard an answering cry. 

After our adventure in the northern part of 
Burmah we had travelled south into the 
heart of Siam, where we parted with our 
elephant, and fussed down the Meinam in 
one of the. .barges L.s£«Gpe-d. out of a tree: 
trunk, such as are commonly used to navigate- 



this river. Disembarking at Ayuthia we had 
visited the ruins of the ancient city, and 
afterwards continued on our way towards the 
mouth of the river. While examining the 
colossal images which lie amid the other 
relics of the city's past greatness, Hassan 
had told us a weird story, to which, however, 
at that time we paid but scant attention* 

On the night when our Arab guide had 
roused us so suddenly, our tent was pitched 
r.t some distance from the bank of the river, 
where a fantastic natural bridge of jagged white' 
limestone spanned the seething waters of the 
tumbling rapids below, and united the two 
parts of the great plain. Sitting close to the 
entrance of the tent with Hassan* I could 
see far away to the west the tops of the 
great range of the Three Hundred Peaks 
beyond the plain. Recollecting that Hassan 
had mentioned them in his story, I was 
just on the point of asking him to repeat it 
when I heard the strange cry once more. A 
moment after the Arab seized me by the arm 
and pointed towards the plain before us. 

I looked in 
the di recti on 
which Hassan 
indicated, and 
my eyes rested 
on the dismantled 
wall of a ruined 
palace. I ob- 
served nothing 
further for a few 
minutes, then a 
dusky form 
seemed to be 
hiding in the 
shadow of the 
wall, M CM/ n 
came the signal 
again, striking 
upon the air softly 
as if the one who 
uttered it feared 
to be discovered 
The cry had ap- 
parently been 
uttered by some- 
one beyond the 
river bank, for the 
man lurking in 

the shadow of the ruin stepped boldly out 
from it into the moonlit plain. He stood 
thers silent for a moment, then dropped 
into the high grass, above which we saw him 
raise his head and cautiously return the 

41 What do you think he is doing there, 


Hassan ? " I asked the Arab, in a whisper, as 
I saw his hand wander to the hilt of his 

" The hill-men have seen our tent while out 
on one of their expeditions/ 1 he responded, 
softly. " I think they are going to attempt 
to take us by surprise, but by the aid of tlie 
Prophet we will outwit them," 

I felt no particular inclination to place 
much trust in Mahomet's help, as the danger 
which confronted us dawned fully upon my 
mind, so instead I moved quickly over to 
Denviers, and awoke him. 

u Is it the owl again ? M he asked, as i 
motioned to him to look through the opening 
of the tent Immediately he did so, and 
saw the swarthy face of a turbaned hill-man 
raised above the rank grass, as its owner 
made slowly but steadily towards our tent, 
worming along like a snake, and leaving & 
thin line of beaten-down herbage to show 
where his body had passed. Denviers dreir 
from his belt one of the pistols thrust there, 
for we had taken the precaution at Rangoon 

to get a couple 
each, since our 
own were lost in 
our adventure off 
Ceylon, I 
quietly imitated 
his example, and, 
drawing well away 
from the entrance 
of the tent, so 
that our watch- 
fulness might not 
be observed, we 
waited for the 
hill-man to ap- 
proach. Half- 
way between the 
ruined palace wall 
and our tent he 
stopped, and then 
I felt Hassan's 
hand upon my 
arm again as, 
with the other, 
he pointed to- 
yards the river 

We saw the 
grass moving there, and through it came a 
second hill-man, who gradually dr?w near to 
the first. On reanhing him the second comer 
also became motionless, while we next saw 
four other trails of beaten -down grass, marking 
the advance of further foes, How many more 
were coming on behind we could only sur- 

, Vol. v.^G. 



mise, as we watched the six hill-men who 
headed them get into a line one before the 
other, and then advance, keeping about five 
yards apart as they came on. From the 
position in which our tent was pitched it 
was impossible for an attack to be made 
upon us in the rear, and this circumstance 
fortunately allowed of undivided attention to 
the movements of the hill-men whom we saw 
creeping silently forward 

" Wart till the first one of them gets to the 
opening of our tent/' whispered Denviers to 
me ; "and while I deal with him shoot down 
tile second. Keep cool and take a steady 

'HE sullenly klunl; his poniard down. 

aim as he rises from the grass, and whatever 
you do, don't miss him/ 1 

I held my pistol ready as we waited for 
them to come on, and each second measured 
with our eyes the distance which still 
separated us. Twenty yards from the tent 
the foremost of the hill-men took the kris or 
bent poniard with which he was armed from 
between his teeth, and held it aloft in his 
right hand as he came warily crawling on a 
foot at a time followed by the others, each 
with his weapon raised as though already 
about to plunge it into our throats. It was 
not a very cheering spectacle, but we held 
our weapons ready and watched their 
advance through the grass, determined to 
thrust them back. 

I felt my breath come fast as the first hill- 
man stopped when within half-a-dozen yards 
of the tent and listened carefully. I could 

have easily shot him down as he half rose to 
his feet, and his fierce eyes glittered in his 
swarthy face. Almost mechanically I noticed 
the loose shirt and trousers which he wore, 
and saw the white turban lighting up his 
bronzed features as he crept right up to our 
tent and thrust his head in, confident that 
those within it were asleep. The next instant 
he was down, with Denviers 1 hand on his 
throat and a pistol thrust into his astonished 
face, as my companion exclaimed : — 
u Drop your weapon or I'll shoot you !" 
The hill-man glared like a tiger for a 
moment, then he saw the advantage of follow- 
ing Denviers' suggestion. He sullenly flung 
his poniard down, gasping for breath, just as 
I covered the second of our enemies with my 
pistol and fired. The hill-man raised his arms 
convulsively in the air, gave a wild cry, 
and fell forward upon his face, dead ! 

The third of those attacking us dashed 
forward, undaunted at the fate of the one 
he saw shot down, only to be flupg 
headlong on the grass the next 
instant before the tent, with Hassan 
kneeling on his chest and the point 
of the Arab's sword at his throat. 
The rest of the enemy did not 
wait to continue 
the combat, but 
rose from the 
grass and dis- 
persed precipi- 
tately over the 
plain, making for 
the limestone 
bridge across the 
riven I rushed 
forward to Has- 
san's assistance, and bound the captive's 
arms, while the Arab held him down as 
1 knotted tightly the sash I had taken 
from my waist. Then I made for the 
tent, to find that Denviers had already 
secured the first prisoner by lashing about 
him a stout piece of tent rope. My com- 
panion forced his captive from the tent into 
the open plain, where we held a whispered 
conversation as to whether the two prisoners 
should live or die. The safer plan was un- 
doubtedly to shoot them, for we both agreed 
that at any moment our own position might 
become a critical one if the rest of the horde 
made another attempt upon us, as we fully 
expected would be done* 

However, we finally decided to spare their 
lives, for a time at all events, and while 
Hassan ^^J^^yfmvjl^^hf captives across 
the plain, I brought from" trie tent part of a 



long coil of rope which we had and followed 
them. As soon as we neared the river bank 
ue selected two suitable trees from a clump 
growing there and lashed the prisoners 
securely to them, threatening instant death 
if they attempted to signal their whereabouts 
to any of the hill-men who might be lurking 

" Get our rifles and ammunition, Hassan," 
said Denviers to the Arab. Then turning to 
me, he continued \ " We shall have some 
tough fighting I expect when those niggers 
return, but we are able to hold our own 
better out of the tent than in it." Hassan 
brought our weapons, saying as he handed 
them to us : — 

"The sahibs are wise to prepare for 
another attack, since the enemy must return 
this way, They have not gone off towards 
the far mountain peaks, but crossed yonder 
limestone bridge instead/ 1 

" What do you understand from that 
movement ? " Denviers asked Hassan. 

" The sound which we heard at first came 
from the strange city of which I spoke," he 
replied, "Some of the fierce hill-men have 
made a night attack upon it, and will soon 
return this way. Those we have beaten off 
have gone to meet 
them and to speak of 
the failure to surprise 
us* What they are 
doing in the city round 
the sunken ship will 
shortly be apparent 
The whole band is a 
terrible scourge to the 
cities of the Me i nam, 
for, by Allah, as I told 
the sahibs at Ayuthia, 
the Hunted Tribe has 
a weird history in- 

Trailing our rifles, 
we walked through the 
rank grass, then rest- 
ing upon a fallen 
column, where the 
shadow of the ruined 
palace wall concealed 
us from the view of 
the enemy if they 
crossed the bridge, 
we listened to Has- 
san's story, At the same time we kept a 
careful watch upon the jagged limestone 
spanning the river, ready at a moment's 
notice to renew the struggle, and it was well 
for us that we did so. 


11 It is a strange, wild story which the 
sahibs shall again hear of the Hunted Tribe 
and of its leader," began Hassan, as he 
rested at our feet with his sword gripped in 
his hand ready to wield it in our service at 
any moment; "and thus ye will know why 
the band is out to-night on its fell errand. 
Years ago, before the Burmese had overrun 
Siam, and while Ayuthia was its capital, so 
famous for its pagodas and palaces, Yu Chan 
became head of the bonzes or priests of the 
royal monastery. 

il Who the great bonze was by birth 
none knew, although it was whispered 
through the kingdom that he sprang 
from a certain illustrious family which 
urged his claim to the position to which 
the ruler reluctantly appointed him. The 
subject bonzes looked darkly upon him, 
for he was but young, while many of them 
were bowed with age and aspired to hold the 
high office to which Yu Chan had been 
appointed. Oft they drew together in the 
gloomy cloisters, and when he swept past in 
silence, raised their hands threateningly at his 
disappearing form, though before his lofty, 
stern-set face they bowed in seeming humility 


as they kissed the 
hem of his mag- 
nificent robeinal from 

" Amoujj ihe!^'ijigfjt^%was one who especi- 
ally resented Yu Chan's rule over him, for he 



was more learned in the subtile crafts of the 
East than the rest, and the potency of his 
spells was known and feared throughout 
Siam. An unbending ascetic, indeed, was 
the grey-bearded Klan Hua, and the ruler 
of the country had already promised to him 
that he should become the head of the bonzes 
whenever the office was vacated. So much 
was this ruler influenced by Klan Hua that he 
built a covered way from his palace by which 
he might pass at night into the bonze's rude 
cell to hear the interpretation of his dreams, 
or learn the coming events of his destiny. 
Yet, in spite cf all this, when the chief bonze 
died, the ruler of Siam, after much hesita- 
tion, gave the coveted office to Yu Chan. 
Judge, then, of the fierce hatred which this 
roused in Klan Hua's breast, and ye will 
understand the reason of the plot which he 
formed against the one who held the position 
he so much desired." 

" Never mind about the quarrels of these 
estimable bonzes, Hassan," interrupted Den- 
viers. "Go on and tell us of these hill-men, or 
you won't get that yarn finished before they 
return, in which case we may never have the 
chance to hear the end of it" 

"The sahib is always impatient," answered 
the Arab gravely ; then he continued, quite 
heedless of Denviers' suggestion : " On the 
nights when the ruler went not to Klan Hua's 
cell, the latter gathered there several of the 
other bonzes, and they sat darkly plotting till 
morning came. Then they crept stealthily 
back to their own cells, to shift their eyes 
nervously each time that the stern glance of 
Yu Chan fell upon them, as he seemed to 
reac'. cr.ere their guilty secret. 

" Taey planned to poison him, but he left 
the tampered food untasted. Then they 
drew lot j to assassinate him as he slept, but 
the one whose tablet was marked with a 
poniard was found lifeless the next day, with 
his weapon still clutched in his stiffened 
fingers, and none knew how he died. That 
day the eyes of Yu Chan grew sterner set 
than ever, as he gazed searchingly into the 
face of each bonze as they passed in a long 
procession before him, while the conspirators 
grew livid with fear and baffled rage at the 
cold smile with which he seemed to mock at 
the failure of their schemes. Then they 
made one last effort a few days after, and ye 
shall hear how it ended. 

"The stately Meinam, which glitters before 
us under the midnight sky, yearly overflows 
and renders the earth about it productive. 
Far as the history of Siam is recorded in the 

iitions of the race, it has been the custom 

to perform a strange ceremony, intended to 
impress the common people with awe for 
the ruler. Even now the King of Siam, he 
who sends the silver tree to China in token 
of subjection, still adheres to it, and on the day 
when the waters of the Meinam have reached 
their highest point he sends a royal barge 
down the swollen waters manned by a 
hundred bonzes, who command the turbid 
stream to rise no higher. So then it 
happened that the rise of the river took 
place, and Klan Hua, who was learned in 
such things, counted to the hour when the 
barge should be launched, even as he had 
done for many years. When the ruler visited 
him one eventful night he declared that the 
turbid waters would be at their full on the 
morrow, and so the command to them to 
cease rising could then safely be given. 

"Accordingly the royal barge was launched,, 
amid the cries of the people, whereupon the 
ruler soon entered it and, fanned by a female 
slave, leant back upon the sumptuous 
cushions under a canopy of crimson silk^ 
while by his side was the chief bonze — Yu 
Chan. Near the ruler was the grey-bearded 
Klan Hua, with an evil smile upon his face 
as he saw his rival resting on the cushions in 
the place which he had hoped so long to fill, 

" Out into the middle of the swollen river 
the royal barge went ; then half way between 
bank and bank the rhythmic music of the 
oars as they dipped together into the water 
ceased, and the rowers rested. From his 
seat Yu Chan arose, and uttered in the 
priestly tongue the words which laid a spell 
upon the stream and bade it cease to rise. 
Scarcely had he done so and sunk back 
again upon the cushions when Klan Hua 
threw himself at the monarch's feet and 
petitioned to utter a few words to him. The 
ruler raised the bonze, and bade him speak. 
Holding one hand aloft, the plotting Klan 
Hua pointed with the other towards the 
astonished Yu Chan, as he fiercely cried : — 

" i Thou false-tongued traitor, thou hast 
insulted thy monarch to his face ! ' 

" The ruler bent forward from his cushions 
and looked in surprise from the accuser to 
the accused. 

" ' Speak ! ' he cried to Klan Hua \ c make 
good thy unseemly charge, or, old as thou 
art, thy head shall roll from thy shoulders ! ' 

" ' Great Ruler of Siam and Lord of the 
White Elephant,' exclaimed the accuser, 
giving the monarch his strange but august 
title, i I declare to thee that the chief bonze 
has dooifNBIANA JHIVER£)IT¥o destruction. 
Taking advantage of the language in which 



the exorcism is pronounced, he has dene 
what never the greatest prince under thee 
would dare to do. This man, the head of 
our order, has spoken words which will make 
the people scorn thee and this ceremony, if 
his command comes to pass, Yu Chan, the 
traitor, has bidden the waters to rise! ' 

** The monarch crimsoned with anger, as he 
turned to Yu Chan, who had already re- 
gained his composure, and sat with crossed 
arms, smiling scornfully at his accuser, and 
then asked : — 

M ' Hast thou so misused thy power ? 
Speak !' 

(i ' Howcan'st thou doubt me, knowing my 
great descent ? ' cried Yu Chan, bitterly. 
* Even at thy bidding I will not answer a 
question which casts so much shame upon 

n l Thou can'st not deny this charge ! ' ex- 
claimed the infuriated monarch, 

"'Not so/ replied the chief 
bonze, *I will not ! If thou carest 
to believe the slanderous words 
which Klan Hua has uttered, and 
such that not one in this barge 
will dare to repeat, so be it ! ' 

"Yu Chan withdrew from his 
seat at the monarch's side, and 
taking his rival's place pointed to 
the one he had himself vacated. 

" ( There rest thyself, and be at 
last content,' he said, scornfully: 
*thou false bonze, whisper thence 
more of thy malicious words into 
the ears of the great ruler of 
Siam ! ' Tl 

■" The monarch was disconcerted \ ~ 

for a moment, then motioning one 
of the other bonzes forward, he 
exclaimed : — 

" ( Yu Chan declares that no 
one in this barge will support his accuser's 
words. Thou who wert near, tell me, what 
am 1 to believe ? ' 

* 4 ( Alas ! ' answered the bonze, with 
simulated grief, * Klan Hua spoke truly, great 
monarch ; thy trust in Yu Chan has been 
sorely abused.* 

"One after another the bonzes near came 
before the monarch and gave the same 
testimony, for the crafty Klan Hua had so 
placed the plotters for the furtherance of 
their subtle scheme. The ruler gazed angrily 
at Yu Chan, then summoning his rival to his 
side, bade him rest there. 

" ' Henceforth thou art chief bonze/ he 
said ; then added threateningly to the fallen 
one ; * Thou shalt be exiled from this hour, 

and if the waters rise to-morrow, as thou hast 
bidden them, I will have thee hunted down, 
hide where thou mayest, and thy head shall 

*'The barge reached the shore, and the 
people drew back amazed Ko see the monarch 
pass on, attended closely by Klan Hua, 
while he who was as they thought chief 
bonze flung off his great robe of purple- 
embroidered silk, and idly watched the 
bonzes disembark, then moved slowly away 
across the great plain. 

" Two days afterwards Klan Hua was found 
dead in his cell covered with the robes of 
his newly-acquired office, and the ruler of 
Siam had dispatched a body of soldiers to 
hunt down Yu Chan and to take him alive or 
dead to Ayuthia. The Meinam had risen 
still higher the day after the ceremony, nrt, 
as the startled monarch thought, because of 
the deposed one's power, but owing to Klan 



Hua's deception in regard to the real time 
when he knew the water would reach its 

" Then began the strange events which 
made the name of Yu Chan so memorable. 
For some years a band of marauders had 
taken possession of the far range known as 
the Three Hundred Peaks, but hitherto their 
raids in Burmah and Siam had attracted 
scant attention, while in Ayuthia few T knew 
of their existence- To them the bonze went, 
and when the half-savage troops sent in 
search of him were encamped on the edge of 
the plain the mountaineers unexpectedly 
swooped down upon them. The remnant 
which escaped hastened back to the monarch 
with strange stories of the prowess of the 



enemy, and especially of Yu Chan, the exile, 
whom they averred led on the foe to victory. 
The ruler of Siam, deeply chagrined at their 
non-success, ordered the vanquished ones to 
be decapitated for their failure to bring back 
the bonze or his lifeless body. 

" A second expedition was sent against 
them, but the mountaineers held their fast- 
nesses so well that, in despair of conquering 
them, the few who survived their second on- 
slaught slew themselves rather than return 
to Ayuthia to suffer a like fate to that which 
the monarch had awarded the others. Mad- 
dened at these repeated defeats, the ruler 
himself headed a large army and invested the 
passes, cutting off the supplies of the moun- 
taineers, in the hope of starving them into 
subjection. So deeply was he roused against 
Yu Chan that he offered to pardon the rebels 
on condition that they betrayed their leader. 

" They scornfully rejected such terms, and 
withdrew to the heart of the mountains to 
endure all the horrors of famine with a 
courage which was heroic At times the 
brave band made desperate efforts to break 
through the wall of men which girded them 
about, and each onset, in which they were 
beaten back, inspired them to try yet again. 

" The Malay who told me their story 
declared they were reduced to such straits 
at last that for one dreadful month they lived 
upon their dead. Never once did they waver 
from their allegiance to Yu Chan, whose 
stern-set face inspired them to resist to the 
last, for well he knew that the monarch's 
promise could not be trusted, and that sur- 
render for them meant death. Often would 
they be repulsed at sunset in an attempt to 
break through the cordon which held them, 
and yet before nightfall, at the entrance of 
some precipitous pass, far remote from that 
spot, swift and sudden the gaunt and haggard 
band appeared, led on by Yu Chan, sword in 
hand, as he hewed down those who dared to 
face him. 

"Just when they were most oppressed 
relief came to the band of a quite unex- 
pected kind, for the Burmese on the border 
overran Siam, and the soldiers were with- 
drawn to meet the new enemy. So, for a 
time, the band was left unmolested ; but still 
none, save their leader, ventured to leave 
their wild haunts. Before he had been ap- 
pointed chief of the bonzes who brought 
about his exile, Yu Chan had been the lover 
of a maiden of Ayuthia, but the high office 
which had been bestowed on him kept them 
apart. No sooner had the robes which he 
wore as a bonze been exchanged for those of 

a mountaineer than Yu Chan determined to 
see this maiden again. On the departure of 
their enemies he prepared to visit Ayuthia, 
although strongly counselled not to do so 
by his devoted band. He was, however, 
obdurate, and set forth on his perilous enter- 
prise alone. 

" Yu Chan crossed the great plain of Siam. 
and then, resting in a thatched hut upon the 
bank of the Meinam, dispatched a Malay, 
who chanced to dwell there, with a message 
to his beloved to visit him, for he thought it 
useless to attempt to enter Ayuthia if he 
wished to live. At nightfall the Malay returned 
from the island in die middle of the bend of 
the Meinam, whereon ye know the city is built 
He thrust a tablet into Yu Chan's hand, 
whereon was a desire that the latter would 
wait the maiden's coming at a part of the 
bank where often the boat of the lovers had 
touched at before. Soon the exile beheld 
the slight craft making for the shore, manned 
by six rowers muffled in their cloaks, for 
the night was cold. Happy indeed would 
it have been for the lovers if the maiden 
had scanned closely the features of those who 
ferried her across the river, for the treacherous 
Malay had recognised Yu Chan, and six of 
the monarch's soldiers were the supposed 
boatmen, hurriedly gathered to take the exile 
or to slay him. 

" The maiden stepped from the boat, and, 
with a glad cry, flung her arms about Yu 
Chan, who had passed down the narrow path 
to meet her. Together they climbed up the 
steep way that led to the plain above the 
high bank, followed by the muffled soldiers, 
who lurked cautiously in the shadows of the 
limestone, through which wound the toilsome 
path. Once, as they passed along, a slight 
sound behind them arrested the footsteps of 
the lovers, and Yu Chan turned and glanced 
back searchingly, then on they went again. 
For an hour or more they wandered together 
over the plain, then, with many a sigh, turned 
to descend the path once more. Again they 
heard a sound, and that time on looking 
round quickly Yu Chan saw the boatmen, 
whom he had thought awaited the maiden's 
return by the river brink, stealing closely 
after him, their faces shrouded in their black 

" At once his suspicions were aroused, and 
hastily unsheathing his sword he confronted 
them just as they flung off their cloaks and 
the fierce faces of six of the half-savage 
soldiery of the monarch were revealed to Yu 
Chan. Slowly the latter retreated till he was 
a little way down the path with his back to 



the protecting limestone, then stood at bay 
to defend the maiden and himself from 
the advancing foes. Warily they came on, 
for well they knew the deadly thrusts which 
he could deal with his keen sword, Yu Chan 
in fighting at such desperate odds more than 
once failed to beat down the weapons lunged 
at him, but though severely wounded he did 
not flinch from the combat Three of his 
assailants lay dead at his feet, when the leader 
of the monarch's soldiery twisted the sword 
from Yu Chan's hand, and then the three 
.surviving foes rushed upon the defenceless 
man. With a cry that pierced the air the 
maiden flung herself before her lover — to 
fall dead as her body was thrust through 
and through by the weapons intended for the 
heart of Yu Chan I 

"Like a boarhound the mountain chief 
leapt upon his nearest assailant, 
wrenched the .sword dripping with 


the maiden's blood from his hand, and almost 
cleaved him in half with one resistless stroke. 
He turned next upon the remaining two, but 
they fled headlong down the path, Yu Chan 
following with a fierce cry at their heels. 
Into the boat they leapt, nor dared to look 

behind till they were out in m id-stream ; 
then they saw the wounded chief slowly 
dragging himself back to where the maiden 
lay lifeless. 

" Yu Chan bent despairingly over her as 
he saw the fatal stains which dyed her gar- 
ments and reddened some of the fragrant 
white flowers fallen from her hair, which 
lay in masses framing her white* still face. 
Taking up his own sword, he sheathed it ; 
then he raised the maiden gently in his arms, 
and, covered himself with gaping wounds, he 
set out to cross the great plain to the Three 
Hundred Peaks, where his followers awaited 
his return. On he struggled for two weary 
days with his lifeless burden ; then at last 
he reached the end of his journey, and as 
the mountaineers gathered hastily about him 
and shuddered to see the ghastly face of their 
chief, Yu Chan tottered 
and fell dead in their 
midst ! 

" Round the two life- 
less forms the hunted 
tribe gathered, and, look- 
ing upon them, knew 
that they had been slain 
by their remorseless foes. 
One by one the moun- 
taineers pressed forward, 
and amid the deathly 
silence of the others, 
each in turn touched 
the sword of their slain 
chief and sternly swore 
the blood - revenge. 
Fierce, indeed, as are 
such outbreaks in many 
eastern lands, that day 
marked the beginning 
of dark deeds of re- 
quitement that have 
made all others as 
nothing in comparison 
to them. The Burmese 
came down upon Siam 
and swept over fair 
Ayuthia, leaving nothing 
but the ruins of the 
city ; yet, even in that 
national calamity, the 
fierce instinct of murder 
so fatally roused in the 
breasts of the mountaineers never paused 
nor seemed dulled. While the magnificent 
city lay despoiled, the once hunted tribe fell 
upon the othen; about the Meinam, and 
long|f.^^.j^fM.||rqj^ed throughout the 
country, still their deeds of pillage and 




massacre went on, as they do even to this 
day, so remote from the one when their 
leader was slain. 

"For months the tribe will be unheard 
of, and lulled by a false sense of security 
the inhabitants of one of these cities will 
make preparations for one of their recurring 
festivals. Even in the midst of such the 
strange cry of the hunted tribe will be heard, 
and the coming day will reveal to the awe- 
struck people the evidence of a night attack, 
in which men and women have been slain or 
carried off suddenly to the Three Hundred 

" The present descendants of the avengers 
of Yu Chan's death are a cowardly lot, at all 
events," commented Denviers, as the Arab 
finished his recital : " they attacked us with- 
out reason, and have consequently got their 
deserts. If they come upon us again " 

u Hist, sahib," Hassan whispered cau- 
tiously, as he pointed with his sword towards 
the fantastic bridge of limestone ; " the 
hunted tribe is returning from its raid, see ! Jl 
We looked in the direction in which he 
motioned us, and saw that the mountaineers 

bore a captive in their midst ! Imme- 
diately one of the prisoners lashed to the 
trees gave a warning cry, regardless of the 
threats which Denviers had uttered, Has- 
san sprang to his feet, and stood by my 
side as we raised our rifles, still hidden 
as we were in the shadow of the ruined 
palace wall. 


"Hassan," whispered my companion to 

the Arab; "go over to the prisoners 

there, and if they cry out again shoot 

them, I don't think that first cry has 

been heard by the others." As he spoke 

Denviers thrust a pistol into Hassan's 

hand and motioned to him to move 

through the grass towards them. We 

watched our guide as he n eared them 

^ and raised the pistol threateningly — 

a silent admonition which 

they understood, and became 

quiet accordingly. 

From our position in the 
shadow of the ruined palace 
wall we saw a number of the 
hunted tribe slowly wind over 
the bridge wr"i their captive, 
and noticed that in addition 
they had plenty of plunder 
with them. Noiselessly they 
moved towards our tent, 
and completely surrounded 
it, only to find it empty. 
They were evidently at a loss what to 
do, when one of their number stumbled 
over the dead mountaineer whom I had shot 
down as he joined in the attack upon us, 
A fierce exclamation quickly caused the 
rest to gather about him, and for some 
minutes they held a brief consultation. We 
judged from their subsequent actions that 
they considered we had made good our 
escape from the plain, for they made no 
further search for us, but apparently deter- 
mined to avenge their comrade's death by 
slaying their captive. While the rest of the 
band moved away over the plain, two of 
their number returned towards the limestone 
bridge spanning the river. Guessing their fell 
purpose, Denviers and I crept through the 
tall grass, and under cover of the trees by 
the bank moved cautiously towards them. 

From tree to tree we advanced with our 
rifles in our hands, then just when within 
twenty yards of them we stopped aghast at 
the movements of the two mountaineers, 
who were forcing tun struggling captive 
slowly tq^^j^ftt^Sr^e Jigged lime- 
stone bridge ! 



We looked down at the angry waters or the 
rapid, swirling twenty feet below in the deep 
lied of the river, which was slowly rising each 
day, for the time of its inundation was near 
at hand. For a moment I saw a woman's 
horror-stricken face in the moonlight and 
heard her agonizing cry, then the sharp crack 
of Denviers 1 rifle rang out, and one of her 
assailants relaxed his grasp. Before Denviers 
could take a shot at the second mountaineer, 
he seized the captive woman and deliberately 
thrust her over the rocky bridge ! 

" Quick ! To 
the river ! : ' ex- 
claimed Denviers, 
as we heard the 
sound of her body 
striking the waters 
below. Down the 
steep bank we 
steadying our- 
selves by grasping 
the lithe and 
dwarfed trees 
which grew in its 
rocky crevices. 
For one brief 
moment w e 
scanned the 
seething torrent, 
and then, right in 
its midst, we saw 
the face and float 
ing hair of the 
woman as she 
was Li^m 'I to and 
fro in the rapid, 
while she vainly 
tried to cling to 
the huge boulders 
rising high in the 
stream through 
which her fragile form was hurried. 

"Jump into the boat and wait for me to 
be carried down to you! "cried Denviers, and 
before I fully realized what he was about to 
do, he flung his rifle down and plunged head- 
long into the foaming waters. I saw him 
battling against the fierce current with all 
his might, for the rocks in mid-stream pre- 
vented the woman from being floated down 
to us and threatened to beat out her life, as 
she was borne violently against them. I ran 
madly towards where our boat had been 
drawn up, and pushing it into the river 
strained my eyes eagerly in the wild hope of 
seeing Denviers alive when his body should 
he floated down towards me. 

u\ku tkk tUJOfcV i;j;][a;i.. 

I pulled ha:d against the stream and 
managed to keep the rude craft from being 
carried away with the current. A few minutes 
afterwards I saw that my companion had 
succeeded in dragging the woman from the 
grinding channels between the rocks, and 
was being swept on to where I anxiously 
awaited him with his burden. The water 
dashed violently against the boat as I put it 
across the middle of the rushing stream, then 
dropped the oars as he was flung towards ma 
I stretched out my arms over the side in 

order to relieve 
him of his bur- 
den, and, al- 
though ■ he was 
exhausted, Den- 
viers made one 
last effort and 
thrust the woman 
towards me. I 
dragged her into 
the boat just as 
her rescuer sank 
back. With a 
quick but steady 
grip I caught my 
companion and 
hauled him in 
too, and before 
long had the hap- 
piness to see both 
become conscious 
once more. 

Leaving the 
boat to float down 
the stream, I 
merely steered it 
clear of the rocky 
sides of the river 
channel, then, 
seeing some dis- 
tance ahead a 
favourable place to land, drew in to the 
shore with a few swift strokes from 
the oars. 1 >enviers remained with the 
woman he had rescued, while I climbed the 
steep bank again and found that the moun- 
taineers had, fortunately, not returned, al- 
though we had fully expected the report of 
Denviers 1 rifle to cause them to do so. I 
thereupon signalled to my companion below 
that all was safe, and he toiled up to the 
plain supporting the woman, who was a Laos, 
judging fr^j^^^ntsand slight, graceful 

^^WOT., of skin,, m M 

her reclining wearily in the tent, to which 
Denviers conducted her, then hastened 



towards Hassan, whom we found still keep- 
ing guard over our two captives. The Arab, 
when he heard of the hazardous venture 
which Denviers had made, stoutly urged us 
to put our prisoners to death, as a warning 
to the hunted tribe that their misdeeds could 
not always be carried on with impunity. For 
reply Denviers quietly took the pistol from 
the Arab's hand, and then we returned to- 
wards the tent, outside which we rested till 
day dawned. 

The woman within the tent then arose and 
came towards us, thanking Denviers pro- 
fusely for saving her from such a death as 
had confronted her. She' told us that her 
betrothal to a neighbouring prince had taken 
place only a few days before, but although 
every precaution had been taken to keep the 
affair secret, the news was conveyed to the 
hunted tribe by some one of the many sup- 
porters of the mountaineers. As she was a 
woman of high rank, this seemed to them a 
suitable opportunity to strike further terror 
into the hearts of the people inhabiting the 
cities about the Meinam. Their plans had 
been thoroughly successful, for they had 
despoiled several of the richest citizens, slay- 

ing those who opposed them, then snatching 
the woman up, began to carry her off to live 
among their tribeswomen, and to become 
one of them, when we fortunately saved her 
from that fate. We promised to conduct her 
to the city whence she had been stolen, 
which we eventually did, but before setting 
out for that purpose we visited our prisoners 

" Hassan," said Denviers, "release the men 
from the trees." The Arab most reluctantly 
did so, stoutly maintaining that after Mahomet 
had helped us so strangely and successfully, 
we would be wiser either to shoot them or 
leave them bound till someone discovered 
and dealt with our prisoners as they deserved. 

The ropes were accordingly unbound which 
fastened them to the trees; then Denviers 
pointed to the distant range of the Three 
Hundred Peaks and bade them begone. 
The two prisoners set forward at a run, 
1 aing not a little surprised at our clemency. 
vVhen they had at last disappeared in the 
distance, we moved towards the city beyond 
Ayuthia to restore the princess to her people, 
who had, by our means, been snatched from 
the power of the hunted tribe. 

by Google 

Original from 


^arrin^o a Uo 

qual ity 
and al- 
m o s t 
of vanes 
— from the modest 
arrow to the richly-gilt 
and imposing heraldic 
monster— which meet 
the eye as one wanders through quiet village, 
busy market town, or sleepy cathedral 
city, and the traditions which are asso- 
ciated with these distinctly useful, time- 
honoured, and much consulted adjuncts 
to church or home, make me hope that 
the following brief notes and sketches of 
a few of the many types one sees may not be 
without interest to some of the numerous 
readers of The Strand Magazine. 

That eminent authority on things archi- 
tectural — the late John Henry Parker, F.S.A. — 
tells us that vanes were in use in the time of 
the Saxons, and in after ages were very 
extensively employed, there being notable 
development during the prevalence of the 
Perpendicular and Elizabethan styles. 

To anyone vane-hunting — or health- 
hunting, for the matter of that— I would 
recommend them to tramp, sketch or note 
book in hand, ovtt that stretch of country 
which occupies the most southerly corner of 

Kent, known as Romney Marsh ; and be- 
ginning, say, at Hythe — one of the old Cinque 
Ports, and still a place of considerable 
importance —they will there find several 
vanes worthy of note, specially perhaps the 
one which surmounts the Town Hall, m the 
High Street. It is in excellent condition* and 
is contemporary with the building itself, 
which was erected in 1794. 

The country between Hythe and Dym~ 
church has quite a plethora of rustic vanes — 


35 2 


^VANej" j near ^l>xmchiirc 



many crippled and others 
almost defunct — sketches 
of a few of which 1 give my 
readers, Note the one, 
carved out of a pi en i 
wood and rudely shaped 
like a bottle, which is stuck 
on an un trimmed bough 
of a tree and spliced to 
a clothes-prop : could any- 
thing be more naive ? (in 
justice I would add that 
this is not at the inn); or 
the one that is noted just 
below it — an axe poised on 
the roof of the local wheel- 
wright's workshop, which 
aforesaid roof stilL bears 
unmistakable evidence of 
election turmoil. Never- 
theless, this original type 
of vane seemed well fitted 
to do good service, for 
one noted that it answered 
to the slightest breath of 
wind. The old patched 
one, too, on the quaint 
little Norman church at 
Dynichurch seemed to me 
to be of in- 
terest in many 
ways, specially 
when I realized 
that it looked 
down on a row 
of graves, kept 
in beautiful 
order, of the 
nameless dead 
which the angry 
sea had given 
into the keep- 
ing of these 
sturdy village 

Working westward past Ivy church, with its 
fine Perpendicular tow T er and beacon-turret, 
Old and New Romney, Lydd (which was 
attached to the Cinque Port of Romney), 
with its dignified Perpendicular church, of 
which Cardinal Wolsey was once vicar, we 
come to Rye, which is just over the border- 
land into Sussex, another of the towns 
annexed to the Cinque Ports, though, sad to 
say, like Sandwich and Winchelsea, its pros- 
perity departed when the sea deserted it. 

At Rye one cannot help but linger, there 
is so much to interest ; its unique position, 
its ancient standing, the almost incredible 

changes in its sur- 
roundings owing to the 
receding of the sea, 
its chequered history, 
its delightful, old- 
world look, and its 
venerable church of 
St. Nicholas, all conv 
bine to arrest one's 
attention. Let us look 
for a few moments 
at the church itself. 
which crowns the hill, 
and upon the tower 
of which stands the 
vane depicted in my 
sketch. It was built 
towards the close of 
the twelfth century, 
and Jeake, the his- 
torian, says of it that 
it was "the goodliest 
edifice of the kind in 
Kent or Sussex, the 
ca t hedr als except ed . " 
Its first seven vicars 
were priests of the 
Church of Rome, and 
in the church records 
there are some 
curious entries, 
which look as 
though Passion 
plays were 
once per- 
formed in Rye. 
Here is one 
dated 1522 \ — 
** Paid for a 
coate made 
when the Re- 
surrection was 
played at 
Easter, for him 
that in play- 
ing represented the part of Almighty Clod, is. ; 
ditto for making the stage, 3s, 4d. ?J During 
the reign of Edward VL an entry is made, 
which reads: " Expended for cleaning the 
church from Popery, jQ\ 13s. 4d*" 

If tradition be true, Queen Elizabeth (who 
once visited Rye) gave the clock, which is 
said to be the oldest clock actually going in 
England. Now for the weather-vane, 
which I venture to think is worthy of its 
surroundings ; it i^ simple in form, stately in 
propfljf^j^^ preservation. 

Through 'the metal plate of the vane itse 1 ' 
are cut boldly, stencil fashion, the lett 



of one of them on the south side, it looks more 
picturesque than ecclesiastical ; but the 
beauty of the vane itself at once arrests 
attention, 1 think it is one of the most 
elaborate specimens of wrought ironwork, 
applied to such a purpose, that I have 
met with ; against a sunny sky it is like 
so much beautiful filigree— the metal wind- 
plate is apparently a much later restoration, 
and is perforated with the letters " W, ft£" 
and the date 1868. From the vane you 
could almost jump into the old tree beneath 
which John Wesley preached his last sermon. 
Eastward, but very little beyond the shadow 
of the vane, is Tower Cottage, Miss Ellen 
'Ferry's country retreat. Mr. Harry How, in 
a recent number of The Strand Maga- 
zine, has told us in one of his interesting 
"Interviews" of the quiet home life of the 
great actress when staying here. What a 
glorious outlook the old vane has — on the 
one hand quaint, sleepy Rye 
and the flat stretches of Romney 
Marsh ; to the north the great 
Weald of Kent ; to the west- 
eU*t warc i beautiful Sussex, and 

11 A, R," (I was unable to find out to whom 
they referred — presumably a churchwarden), 
and immediately below them, the date 1703. 
The pointer is very thick and richly foliated, 
and the wrought ironwork which supports 
the arms> which indicate the four cardinal 
points of the compass, is excellent in 

Two miles further west we come to dear 
old Winchelsea, The church (built between 
1288-1292), of which only the choir and 
chance], with some portions of the transepts, 
now remain, was originally dedicated to 
St. Thomas i Becket, but in the present day 
is called after St. Thomas the Apostle. It 
possesses an exceptionally fine vane, perched 
on a curiously squat } barn -like structure, which 
does duty for a tower. With its creeper- 
covered dormer windows and a somewhat 
convivial-looking chimney-pot sticking up out 

/ SjS w J" wylht "j 




straight in front the open sea of the English 

Folkestone makes a capital centre from 
which to go a-hunting vanes, but before we 
start it is well worth while to glance for a few 
moments at the modern one on the Parish 
( hurch of St. Eanswythe. It was designed, 


about fifteen years ago, by Mr* 3. S. Stall- 
wood, the architect, of Reading, who, by- 
the-bye, is, too, responsible for the fine 
west window. The vane is of dark metal 
throughout, save for the gilt arrowy, and 
stands on a turret to the south-west of the Per- 
pendicular embattled tower. It is in excel- 
lent condition, notwithstanding its very ex- 
posed position to the Channel storms, Down 
on the harbour jetty t surmounting the light- 
house and hard by where the Boulogne mail- 
boats come in day by day, is a vane with 

r (fterit 


scrolly arms, well worth noting; and, again, 
on a house out toward Shorncliffe, area coupk 
of "fox" vanes, one of which blustering 
Boreas has shorn of its tail ; poor Reynard, 
in consequence, is ever swirling round and 
round — a ludicrous object — apparently ever 
seeking and never finding the aforesaid tail 

About a mile inland, near the Old Hall 
Farm, on an outhouse or piggery, is the 
subject of the accompanying sketch. It has 
certainly seen much better days, and is 
ratWElll^iUN WKSff4h of th e genus weather- 
vane. It will be noted that nidc winds havi; 



It stands close to a finely carved pulpit 

four hundred years old* The north porch is a 

memorial to the first Lord Justice of 

England - Sir James Lewis Knight-Bruce, 

whu with his wife lies buried almost within 

its shadow. On an old house close by is a 

" cow " vane — when I made the sketch given, 

pigeons by the score from a neighbouring 

cote kept perching on it in a very friendly 

and picturesque fashion. Two miles further 

in the same direction brings us to the village 

of Newington, which possesses one of the 

quaintest little churches in Kent Among 

other things it boasts some seventeen brasses 

—some dating back to the 15th and 16th 

centuries — - an ancient 

dial, on oaken shaft 

fast mouldering away — 

and a picturesque wooden 

belfry surmounted by a 

vigorously modelled gilt 

weathercock in capital 


On Sevington spire, 
near Ashford, is a daintily 
designed vane, dated 
1866- Some storm has 
given it — as the sailors 
say — a list to port, but 
that seems somehow not 
to take away from but 
to add to its charm. It 



carried away, almost bodily, three out of the 
four letters which denote the compass-points, 
hut have in mercy spared poor piggy's curly 

A mile or so further on is a daintily- 
designed but very simple vane, which stands 
on the north-east corner of the tower of the 
ancient church of St, Martin at Cheriton. 
Canon Scott Robertson, the well-known 
antiquarian, pronounces this tower to be of 
unusual interest. He tells us that it is 
probably pre-Norman, but certainly was 
erected before the end of the nth century. 
Traces of characteristic, rou^K wide-join ted 
masonry and a small, round-headed doorway 
should be specially noted Let us linger in 
the church itself for a few moments. In the 
north Chantry (13th century) we shall find an 
interesting mural tablet thus inscribed : — 

"Here lieth Interred the Body of Mrs. 
Elizabeth Raleigh, Grand Daughter of the 
FAMED Sr Walter Raleigh, who died at 

* Enbrook h 26 day of October, 1716, aged 





is interesting to note that not far from here 
is the house where once resided Dr. Harvey, 
the famous discoverer of the circulation of 
the blood. 

A mile on brings us to Hinxhill — a dear, 
old world place — its picturesque little church, 
with ivy-covered walls, moss-grown roof, 
quaint open-timbered chancel, and fine 
stained-glass, all go to make a never-to-be- 
forgotten pic- 
ture. On the 
little Early 
English spire 
is bet a vane 
simple and 
good in treat- 
me nt, and 
thoroughly in 
accord with its 

At Sandgate 
is a well de- 
signed " horse 
and jockey " 
vane on a 
flagstaff, in a 
garden about 
fifty yards 
from where 
the ill - fated 
sailing ship, 
the Benvenuij 
went ashore 
and sank, and 
which was 

to an old lead- 
covered spire 
surmounting a 
decorated Nor- 
man tower with 
rich exterior 
a reading, practi- 
cally untouched by the unloving hand 
of the so-called "restorer' 1 ; but there 
are several others in the older streets of 
the town well worth noting. 

The seeker for vanes quaint and 
ancient, must on no account miss going 
down the High Street of Ton bridge* 
There are three within a .stone's throw 
of each other which must be noted, 
specially the one locally known as " The 
Sportsman " —he stands over a dormer win- 
dow in the red-tiled roof of an old house ot 
the Sheraton period, immediately opposite the 
famous " Chequers Inn/* The house itself is 
very interesting; it has evidently been, in 
its early days, of considerable pretension, 
but has been an ironmongers shop since 
«- T8o4 + On going within to make inquiries 

Ay^AlD^T u j j£g^s > about the vane, I gathered that it is at least 

120 years old, probably much more, the 
oldest part of the house being contemporary 

blown up by order of the Admiralty only with the ".Chequers." The vane is cut out of 
u^ „.,*..,„., t x.:..i. „LLkiLiinaLm-ii;rLj .1 ^a -*i. 

share of 

last autumn 

Dover, too, has its share of interesting 
vanes; perhaps the one belonging to St 
Mary the Virgin is the best. It is attached 

thick sheet copper and strengthened with 
stout ll ,, JiWW , JAjyNldSfe^Tlf places to keep 
it rigid, and the whole is painted in 
cnlours (a very unusual feature), in imita- 



turn of the costume of the .period ; and 
I was shown a curious old print of Ton- 
bridge in the time when the well - to - do 

TK* .Sport jtr*»_* 

fanners wort* top- hats and swallow- 
tailed coats, in which the vane is 
represented just as it appears at 
present. Vane number two is a 
much weathered and discoloured 
one, almost within tourh, on a 
wooden turret surmounting the 
Town Hall a typical 
Georgian building, lately 
threatened with demoli- 
tion, and for the further 
life of which I noted a 
vigorous pleading in the 
pages of The Graphic of 
N ovemher 4th, 1892. 
Number three is a fox, 
rudely cut out of flat metal, with a 
"ryghte bus hie tayle," fixed on a house 
gable overlooking the street. 

The Orlestone sketch represents a type of 
vane practically never to he mrtw^lra-ve 
on the oast-houses in the hop-growing dis- 
tricts of K e n t . ' F h e pa rt i cula r o ne n o t ed sia 11 d s 
at the bottom of a garden belonging to an 

Elizabethan timbered house hard by the 
rhurch. It will be remarked that the animal, 
which is about aft. long, is 
very crude in shape ; it repre- 
sents a fox, and the obvious 
way Mr. Reynard's tail is 
joined on is \ cry enjoyable. 

Rochester admittedly pos- 
sesses one of the finest vanes 
to be found all England over; 
it is in the 
main street on 
the Town Hall 



complete ship in miniature — cordage, 
blocks, twenty-six cannon, small spars, 
even a daintily-modelled figurehead: all 
are there. With the aid of a couple 
of stalwart constables I clambered up 
on to the leaden roof, 
so that I might examine 
more closely and care- 
fully this splendid ex- 
ample of vane-crafL The 
ship itself, from the 
bottom of keel to the 
top of mainmast, measures 
over 6ft., and from jib to 
spanker boom the total 
length is 9ft, It is i8in, 
in width, weighs 7j4cwt., 
and revokes quite easily 
pivoted on a large bull's- 
eye of glass. It may be 
interesting to note that 

■ -4 

On, Town 

(temp* James I.), and surmounts a wooden 
bell-tower perched on the roof. On the 
south-west side of the building facing into 
the street is a tablet, which tells us that 
u This building was erected in the year 
16S7. John Bryan, Esquire, then Mayor" ; 
and in quaint numerals the same date is 
repeated just below the tablet base. The 
vane is in the form of a ship, in gilt metal : a 

On tiedww 

jinalfrom Hki 




my sketch was made from one of the upper- 
most windows of the "Bull Inn" (the 

place where Charles 

Dickens once Iked, 

and which he has 

immortalized in the 

pages of ^Pickwick"), 

which is immediately 

opposite, A little 

higher up the street 

is a large vane, richly 

decorated in red and 

gold, on the Corn 

Exchange, An inscription on 

its south-west face tells us that 

"This present building was 

erected at the sole charge and 

expense of Sir Cloudslcy 

Shovel, Knight, a.d, 1706. 

He represented this city in 

three Parliaments in the 

reign of King William the Third, and in one 

Parliament in the reign of Quern Anne/' 

Maids tone p too, is rich in vanes* There is 
one specially you can see from all parts of 
the town. It is on the Med way Brewery, 
and represents an old brown jug and glass; 
its dimensions, to say the least of it, are 
somewhat startling. The jug alone (which 
h made of beaten copper plate) is 3ft. 6in, in 
height, and in its fullest part 3ft. in diameter, 
with a holding capacity of 108 gallons, or 
three barrels. The glass - also made of 
copper — is capable of holding sonic <i_lt 
gallons. The vane revolves on ball bearings, 

its height above the roof is 12ft., its arms 
extend nearly 7 ft., the whole, I am told, 
standing Soft, from the ground* 

On the observatory connected with the 
Maidstone Museum (which latter was once 
Chillington Manor House) is a modern vane, 
much discoloured by damp, but very apt in 
design ; note the perforated sun, moon and 
stars, and the three wavy- looking pointers, 
which I take to represent rays of light Mr. 
Frederick James, the courteous curator, called 
my attention to a singularly fine wrought-iron 
vane, now preserved in the Museum, about 
which but little is known, but which may 
possibly have surmounted the place in the 

olden days — 
when Chilling- 
ton Manor was 
the seat of the 
great Cobham 

Space forbids 
my more than 
just calling at- 
tention to the 
nondescript gilt 
monster, with 
its riveted wings 
and forked 
tongue and tail, 





°\^- rt^i 

which glares down on us from its perch above 
the Town Hall, in the High Street; or to a 
M cigar" vane (over 2ft. long and as thick 
as a bludgeon), large enough to give Verdant 
Green's famous *" smoke J ' many points, 
hoisted over an enterprising tobacconist's 
a little lower down ; or to the skewered and 
unhappy-looking weathercock on the Parish 
Church ; or the blackened griffin in Karl Street, 
all head and tail, which does duty on an old 
dismantled Gothic building, once called 
"The Brotherhood HalT 1 (it belonged to 

the fraternity of Corpus Christi, about 1422, 
and was suppressed in 1547), then afterwards 
used as a grammar school, and now — tell it 
not in (iath! a hop store; or, lastly, the 
ponderous-looking elephant, painted a sickly 
blue, if I remember rightly, on a great 
building on the banks of the Medway. 

These rambling notes but touch the fringe 
— as it were — of a wide and ever-widening 
subject. A lengthy paper might be written on 
the different types (and some of great interest) 
of vanes in and around London alone ; but 
1 trust I may be allowed to express the hope 
that what has been said may haply enlist 
further interest in these silent faithful, but 
somewhat neglected friends of ours, who, 
"courted by all the winds that hold them 
play," look down from their '* coign e of 
vantage J? upon the hurrying world below. 

^On Ob/*rv"*tt>ry. 

Ma. id -/tone: : 

by Google 

Original from 

By Marianne Kent. 

F I had described myself when 
I first started in life, it would 
simply have been as John 
Blount, commercial traveller. 
I was employed by a firm of 
merchants of very high stand- 
ing, who only did business with large 
houses. My negotiations took me to all 
parts of the United Kingdom, and I enjoyed 
the life, which was full of change and 
activity, At least I enjoyed it in my early 
bachelor days, but while I was still quite 
young— not more than five-and-twenty- 1 
fell in love and married ; and then I found 
that my roving existence was certainly a 
drawback to domestic happiness, My wife, 
Mar)% was a bright little creature, always 
ready to make the best of things, but even she 
would declare pathetically that she might as 
well have married a sailor as a landsman 
who was so seldom at home ! Still, as I 
said, she was one to put a bright face on 
things, and she and my sister made their 
home together. 

It was in the second year after my 
marriage, when I had been away on my 
travels for some weeks, that i heard from my 
sister that a fever had broken out in the 
neighbourhood of our home, and that Mary 
was down with it. Kitty wrote hopefully, 
saying it was a mild attack, and she trusted 
by the time I was home her patient would be 
quite con vales ent I had unbounded faith 
in Kitty, so tnat I accepted her cheerful 
view of things. But, a few evenings later, 
after a long, tiring day, I returned to the hotel 
where I was then staying, and found a tele- 
gram awaiting me. My heart stood still as I 
saw the ominous yellow envelope, for I knew 
my sister would not have sent for me without 

urgent need. The message was to say that, 
although Kilty Mill ho|>ed lor tlu- Ik-m, a 
serious change had taken place, and I should 
return at once, 

"Don't delay an hour; come off imme- 
diately, 1 ' she said* 

I was not likely to delay. I paid up my 
reckoning at the hotel, directed that my 
baggage should be sent on next day, and in 
less than half an hour from the time I had 
opened the telegram I rushed, heated and 
breathless, into the primitive little railway 
station- the only one which that part of the 
country boasted for miles round. I gained 
the platform in time to see the red light on 
the end of the departing train as it disappeared 
into the mouth of the tunnel a few hundred 
yards down the line, For a moment I was 
unable to realize my ill fortune* I stood 
gating stupidly before me in a bewildered 
way- Then the sLation-master, who knew me 
by sight, came up, saying sympathetically : — 

14 Just missed her, sir, by two seconds ! " 

"Yes," I answered briefly, beginning to 
understand it all now, and chafing irritably 
at the enforced delay. a When is the next 
train ? " 

c 'Six five in the morning, sir. Nothing 
more to-night" 

li Nothing more to-night ! " I almost 
shoutud. " There must be ! At any rate, there 
is the evening express from the junction ; I 
have been by it scores of times ! " 

u Very likely, sir ; but that's a through 
train, it don't touch here— never stops till it 
reaches the junction." 

The man's quiet tone carried conviction 
with it ^[Yf^ffy^l^lBrppment, and then 
asked when the express left the junction. 

" Nine fifteen," was the answer. 





" How far is the junction from this by 
road; could I do it in time?" 

" Out of the question, sir. It would take 
one who knew the road the best part of 
three hours to drive." 

-I looked away to my left, where the green 
hill-side rose up steep and clear against the 
evening sky. It was one of the most moun- 
tainous quarters of England, and the tunnel 
that pierced the hill was a triumph of 
engineering skilly even in these days when 
science sticks at nothing. Pointing to the 
brick archway I said, musingly : — 

"And yet, once through the tunnel, how 
close at hand the junction station seems. 1 * 

"That's true enough, sir; the other side 
the tunnel it is not half a mile down the 

"What length is it?" 

" The tunnel, sir ? Close upon three miles, 
and straight as a dart." 

There was another pause, then I said, 
slowly :— 

"Nothing more goes down the line until 
the express has passed ? " 

"Nothing more, sir." 

£< Anything on the up line? " was my next 

" No, sir, not for some hours, except, may- 
be, some trucks of goods, but I have had no 
notice of them yet" 

As the station - master made this last 

answer he looked at me curiously, no doubt 
wondering what the object of all these 
questions could be ; but he certainly had no 
notion of what was passing in my rnrnd, or 
he would not have turned into his office as he 
did, and left me there alone upon the plat- 

I was young and impetuous, and a sudden 
wild determination had taken possession of 
me, In my intense anxiety to get back to 
my sick wife, the delay of so many hours 
seemed unendurable, and my whole desire 
was to catch the express at the junction; but 
how was that to be accomplished ? One way 
alone presented itself to me, and that was 
through the tunnel. At another time I should 
have put the notion from me as a mad 
impossibility, but now I clung to it as a last 
resource, reasoning myself out of all my fears. 
Where was the danger, since nothing was to 
come up or down the line for hours ? A 
good level road, too, of little more than three 
miles, and a full hour and a half to do it in. 
And what would the darkness matter? 
There was no fear of missing the way ; 
nothing to be done but to walk briskly 
forward. Yes, it could be, and I was 
resolved that it should be done, 

I gave myself no more time for reflection, 
I walked to thv end of thr platform and 
stepped down upon the line, not very far 
from the mouth of the tunnel. As I entered 
the gloomy archway I wished devoutly that I 
had a lantern to bear me company, but it 
was out of the question for me to get any- 
thing of the kind at the station ; #5 it was, I 
was fearful each moment that my intentions 
would be discovered, when I knew for a 
certainty that my project would be knocked 
on the head, and, for this reason, I was glad 
to leave daylight behind me and to know that 
I was unseen. 

I walked on, at a smart pace, for fully ten 
minutes, trying not to think, but feeling pain- 
fully conscious that my courage was ebbing 
fast. Then I paused for breath. Ugh ! how 
foul the air smelt ! I told myself that it was 
worse even than the impenetrable darkness — 
and that was bad enough. I recalled to 
mind how I had gone through tunnels — this 
very one among others — in a comfortable 
lighted carriage, and had drawn up the win- 
dow, sharply and suddenly, to keep out the 
stale, poisonous air ; and this was the atmos- 
phere I was to breathe for the next hour ! 
1 shuddered at the prospect. But it was not 

long jfyffefjji BBf« # *ffl^*° ^knowledge that 
it was the darkness "quite as much as the 
stifling air which was affecting me. I had 



never been fond of the dark in my earliest 
days, and now it seemed as if the strange, 
wild fancies of my childhood were forcing 
themselves upon me, and I felt that, if only 
for an instant, I must have light of some 
sort ; so, standing still, I took from my 
pocket a box of vestas, and struck one. 
Holding the little match carefully, cherishing 
it with my hand, I gazed about me. How 
horrible it all looked ! 
Worse, if possible, in 
reality than in imagi- 
nation. The outline 
of the damp, mildewy 
wall was just visible 
in the feeble, flicker- 
ing light. On the 
brickwork close to 
me I could see a 
coarse kind of fungus 
growing, and there 
was the silver, slimy 
trace of slugs in all 
directions j I could 
fancy, too, the hun- 
dred other creeping 
things that were 
about. As the match 
died out, a noise 
among the stones 
near the wall caused 
me hastily to strike 
another, just in time 
to see a large rat 
whisk into its hole, 

A miner, a plate- 
layer — in fact, any- 
one whose avoca- 
tions took them 
underground- would 
have laughed to 
scorn these childish 
fears ; but the situa- 
tion was so new to me, and also I must 
confess that I am naturally of a nervous, 
imaginative turn of mind. Still, 1 was 
vexed with myself for my cowardly feel- 
ings, and started on my walk again, trying 
not to think of these gloomy surroundings, 
but drew a picture of my home, wondering 
how Mary was, if she* was will enough to be 
told of my coming, and was looking out for 
me. Then I dwelt upon the satisfaction 
with which I should enter the express, at the 
junction, feeling that the troubles of the 
evening had not been in vain* After a while, 
when these thoughts were somewhat 
exhausted, and I felt my mind returning to the 
horrors of the present moment, I tried to 

look at it all from a different point of view, 
telling myself that it was an adventure which 
I should live to pride myself upon. Then I 
recalled to mind things I had read of sub- 
terranean passages, and naturally stories of 
the Catacombs presented themselves to me, 
and I thought how the early Christians had 
guided themselves through those dim cor- 
ridors by means of a line or string; the 

fantastic notion 
came to me that I 
was in a like pre- 
dicament, and the 
line I was to follow 
was the steel rail at 
my fee t For a w h i le 
this thought gave me 
courage, making me 
realize how straight 
the way was, and that 
I had only to go on 
and on until the goal 
was reached, 

I walked for, per- 
haps, twenty minutes 
or half an hour, some- 
times passing a small 
grating for ventila- 
tion ; but they were 
so choked by weeds 
and rubbish that they 
gave little light and 
less air. Walking 
quickly through a 
dark place, one has 
the feeling that un- 
seen objects are 
close at hand, and 
that at any moment 
you may come in 
sharp contact with 
them. It was this 
feeling, at least* 
which made me as I went along continually 
put out my hand as if to ward off a blow, 
and suddenly, while my right foot still 
rested on the smooth steel rail, my left hand 
struck against the wall of the tunneL As 
my fingers grated on the rough brick a new 
terror took possession of me --or at least, if 
not a new terror, one of the fears which had 
haunted me at the outset rushed upon me 
with redoubled force, 

I had fared the possibility of the station- 
master's having been mistaken, and of a 
train passing through the tunnel while I was 
still there>rbyt. J .tpldpipyjself I had only to 
stand clostTnTOyne'^tffl^'iIntil the train had 
gone on its way ; now, however, I felt, with 




a sinking horror at my heart, that there was 
little room to spare. Again and again I 
tested it, standing with my foot well planted 
on the rail and my arm outstretched until 
my fingers touched the bricks. There was a 
fascination in it — much as in the case of a 
timid swimmer who cannot bear to think he 
is out of depth and must keep putting down 
his foot to try for the bottom, knowing all 
the while he is only rendering himself more 
nervous. During the next ten minutes I 
know I worked myself into a perfect agony of 
mind, imagining the very worst that could 
happen. Suppose that the up and the down 
trains should cross in the tunnel, what chance 
should I then have ? The mere thought was 
appalling ! Retreat was impossible, for I 
must have come more than half way by this 
time, and turning back would only be going 
to meet the express. But surely in the thick- 
ness of the wall there must be here and there 
recesses ? I was sure I had seen one, some 
little time back, when I had struck a light. 
This was a gleam of hope. Out came the 
matches once more, but my hands were so 
shaky that I had scarcely opened the box 
when it slipped from my fingers and its 
precious contents were scattered on the 
ground. This was a new trouble. I was 
down upon my knees at once, groping about 
to find them. It was a hopeless task in 
the dark, and, after wasting much time, 
I was forced to light the first one I 
found to look for the others, and, when 
that died out, I had only four in my 
hand, and had to leave the rest and go on 
my way, for the time was getting short and 
my great desire was to find a recess which 
should afford me shelter in case of need. 
But, although I grudgingly lit one match 
after another and walked for some distance 
with my hand rubbing against the wall, I 
could find nothing of the kind. 

At length, I don't know what time it was, 
or how far I had walked, I saw before me, a 
long, long way off, a dim speck of light At 
first I thought, with a sudden rush of glad- 
ness, that it was daylight and that the end 
of the tunnel was in sight; then I remembered 
that it was now evening and the sun had long 
set, so that it must be a lamp ; and it was a 
lamp. I began to see it plainly, for it was 
coming nearer and nearer, and I knew that it 
was an approaching train. I stood still and 
looked at it, and it was at that instant that the 
whole ground beneath me seemed to be 
shaken. The rail upon which one of my 
feet was resting thrilled as if with an electric 
shock, sending a strange vibration through 

me, while a sudden rush of wind swept down 
the tunnel, and I knew that the express was 
upon me ! 

I shall never forget the feeling that took 
possession of me : it see.ned as if, into that 
one moment, the experiences of years were 
crowded — recollections of my childhood — 
tender thoughts of my wife — dreams of the 
future, in which I had meant to do so much, 
all thronged in, thick and fast upon me. 
Could this be death ? I gave a wild, despair- 
ing cry for help. I prayed aloud that God 
would not let me die. I had lost all presence 
of mind ; no thought of standing back 
against the wall came to me. I rushed 
madly forward in a frenzy of despair. The 
sound of my voice, as it echoed through that 
dismal place, was drowned in an instant bj 
the sharp, discordant scream of the express. 
On I dashed, right in front of the goods 
train ; the yellow light of the engine shone 
full upon me ; death was at hand. It 
seemed that nothing short of a miracle 
could save me, and, to my thinking, it was a 
miracle that happened. 

Only a few yards from the engine and, as I 
struggled blindly on, a strong hand seized 
me with a grasp of iron, and I was dragged 
on one side. Even in my bewilderment I 
knew that I was not against the wall, but \u 
one of those very recesses I had searched for 
in vain. I sank upon the ground, only half 
conscious, yet I saw the indistinct blur cf 
light as the trains swept by. 

I am not given to swooning, so that, after 
the first moment, I was quite alive to my 
exact situation. I knew that I was crouch- 
ing on the ground, and that that iron-like 
grasp was still on my collar. Presently the 
hand relaxed its hold and a gruff, but not 
unkindly, voice said : — 

" Well, mate, how are you ? " 

This inquiry unlocked my tongue, and I 
poured forth my gratitude. I hardly know 
what I said ; I only know I was very much 
in earnest. I told him who I was and how I 
came to be there, and in return asked him 
his name. 

" That does not signify," was the answer; 
" you can think of me as a friend." 

"That I shall," I returned, gratefully; 
" for God knows you have been a friend ia 
need to me ! " 

" Ah ! " he said, musingly, " your life 
must be very sweet, for you seemed loatk 
enough to part with it ! " 

I admitted vhe truth of this — indeed, I 
had felt it more than once during the last 
hour. I iiad been one of those who, in fits 

. VoL v.— 4& 




of depression, are wont to say that life is 
not worth living — that we shall be well out 
of it, and the test; yet, when it seemed 
really slipping from my grasp, I had clung 
to it with a tenacity which surprised myself. 
And now, with the future once more before 
me, in which so much seemed possible, I 
was lilted with gratitude to God and to my 
unknown friend, by whose means I had been 
saved, There was a short silence ; then I 
asked, rather doubtfully, if there were not 
some way in which 1 could prove my 

u You speak as if you were sincere," my 
strange companion said, in his gruff T down- 
right way; (1 so I will tell you frankly that 
you can do me a good turn if you have a 
mind to. I don f t want your money, under- 
stand ; but I want you to do me a favour." 

" What is it ? " I asked, eagerly ; " believe 
me, if it is in my power it shall be done ! " 

" I would rather you' passed your word 
before I explain more,** he said coolly. M Say 
my request shall be granted, I take it you 
are not a man io break ycur promise," 

Here w^M^I^AitHM^RSITAsked to pledge 



my word for I knew not what ! To be in the 
dark in more senses than one ; for I could 
not even see my mysterious deliverer's face 
to judge what manner of man he was. And 
yet, how could I refuse his request ? At last 
I said, slowly : — 

"If what you ask is honest and above- 
board, you have my word that it shall be 
done, no matter what it may cost me." 

He gave a short laugh. " You are cautious," 
he said, " but you are right. No, there is 
nothing dishonest about my request ; it will 
wrong no one, though it may cause you some 
personal inconvenience." 

" That is enough," I said, hastily, ashamed 
of the half-hearted way in which I had given 
my promise. " The instant we are out of this 
place I will take steps to grant your request, 
whatever it may be." 

" But that won't do," he put in, quickly ; 
" what I want must be done here and now ! " 

I was bewildered, as well I might be, and 
remained silent while he went on : — 

"There is no need to say much about 
myself, but this you must know. I am in 
great trouble. I am accused of that which 
makes me amenable to the law. I am 
innocent, but I cannot prove my innocence, 
and my only chance of safety is in flight. 
That is the reason of my being here : I am 
hiding from my pursuers." 

The poor creature paused, with a deep- 
drawn sigh, as if he at least had not found 
his life worth the struggle. I was greatly 
shocked by his story, and warmly expressed 
my sympathy ; then, on his telling me he 
had been for two days and nights in the 
tunnel with scarcely a bit of food, I remem- 
bered a packet of sandwiches that had been 
provided for my journey, and offered them 
to him. It made me shudder to hear the 
ravenous manner in which they were con- 
sumed. When this was done there was 
another silence, broken by his saying, with 
evident hesitation, that the one hope he had 
was in disguising himself in some way, and 
thus eluding those who were watching for 
him. He concluded with : — 

" The favour I have to ask is that you will 
help me in this by allowing me to have your 
clothes in exchange for mine ! " 

There was such an odd mixture of tragedy 
and comedy in the whole thing that for a 
moment I hardly knew how to answer him. 
The poor fellow must have taken my silence 
for anything but consent, for he said, 
bitterly : — 

" You object ! I felt you would, and it is 
my only chance ! " 

"On the contrary," I returned, "I am 
perfectly willing to do as you wish — indeed, 
how could I be otherwise when I have given 
you * my word ? I was only fearing that 
you built too much upon this exchange. 
Remember, it is no disguise ! — the dress of 
one man is much like that of another." 

" That is true enough, as a general rule," 
was the answer, " but not in this case. I 
was last seen in a costume not common in 
these parts. A coarse, tweed shooting-dress, 
short coat, knee-breeches, and rough worsted 
stockings — so that an everyday suit is all I 

After that there was nothing more to be 
said, and the change was effected without 
more ado. 

It seemed to me that my invisible com- 
panion had the advantage over me as far as 
seeing went, for whereas I was sensible of 
nothing but touch and sound, his hands 
invariably met and aided mine whenever 
they were at fault He confessed to this, 
saying that he had been so long in the dark 
that his eyes were growing accustomed to it 

I never felt anything like the coarseness of 
those stockings as I drew them on. The 
shoes, too, were of the clumsiest make ; they 
were hrge for me, which perhaps accounted 
for their extreme heaviness. I was a bit of 
a dandy ; always priding myself upon my 
spick and span get-up. No doubt this made 
me critical, but certainly the tweed of which 
the clothes were made was the roughest 
thing of its kind I had ever handled. I 
got into them, however, without any com- 
ment, only remarking, when my toilet was 
finished, that I could find no pocket. 

My companion gave another of those short 

" No," he said, " that suit was made for 
use, not comfort ! " 

From his tone and manner of expressing 
himself, I had taken him to be a man fairly 
educated, and when he had declared that he 
did not require my money, I naturally fancied 
he was not in want of funds ; but the style 
of his clothes made me think differ- 
ently, and I decided that he should have 
my watch — the most valuable thing I had 
about me. It had no particular associations, 
and a few pounds would get me another. 
He seemed pleased, almost touched, by the 
proposal, and also by my suggesting that the 
money in my pockets should be divided 
between us. It was not a large sum, but 
half of it would take me to my journey's end, 
I knew. He seemed full of resource, for 
when I was wondering what to do with my 



loose change, in tny pockettess costume, he 
spread out my handkerchief, and putting my 
money and the small things from my pockets 
into it, knotted it securely up and thrust it 
into my breast Then 3 as we stood facing 
each other, he took my hand in farewell I 
proposed our going on together, but this he 
would not hear of. 

"No," he said, with his grim laugh, "the 
sooner I and that suit of clothes part com- 
pany, the better ! M 

So we wished each other God-speed, and 


lurned on our different ways — he going back 
through the tunnel, and I keeping on. 

The experiences of the last few hours had 
made a great impression on me, and, although 
I felt awed and somewhat shaken, my heart 
was light with the gladness of one who re- 
joices in a reprieve. The express that I 
had been so anxious to catch had long 
since gone on its way j still, in my present 
hopeful frame of mind, that did not trouble 
me. I felt a conviction thai Mary was 
mending, that I should find her better, and, 
comforted by this belief, I walked briskly on ; 
at least, as briskly as my clumsy shoes would 
allow me, but even in spite of this hindrance, 
it was not long before I reached the end of 
the tunnel. The moonlight streaming down 
upon the rails was a pleasant sight, and 
showed me, some time before I reached it, 
that my goal was at hand* When I left the 
last shadow behind me and stood out under 
the clear sky I drew a sigh of intense 
thankfulness, drinking in the sweet fresh air. 

I walked down the country road, thinking 

that I would rest for a few hours at the 
station hotel and be ready for the first train 
in the morning. But my adventures were 
not yet over As I glanced at my clothes, 
thinking how unlike myself I looked and felt, 
something on fhe sleeve of my coat attracted 
my attention ; it must be tar, which I or the 
former wearer of the clothes must have 
rubbed off in the tunnel. But, no. I looked 
again— my eyes seemed riveted to it— it was 
unmistakable. There, on the coarse grey 
material of the coat, was a large broad-arrow. 

In an instant 
the whob truth 
had flashed upon 
me. No need to 
examine those 
worsted stockings 
and heavy shoes 
■ — no need to take 
off the coat and 
6nd upon the 
collar the name 
of one of Her 
Majesty's prisons, 
and the poor con- 
vict's number. As 
my eyes rested on 
the broad-arrow I 
understood it alL 
At first I was very indignant at the 
position I was in, I felt that a trick had 
been practised upon me, and I naturally- 
resented it. I sat down by the roadside 
and tried to think. The cool air blew 
in my face and refreshed me. I had no 
hat ; the convict — - 1 was beginning to 
thinlt of him by that name- — had given 
me none, saying he had lost his cap in 
the tunnel After a while, when my anger 
had somewhat subsided, I thought more 
pitifully of the man whose clothes I wore. 
Poor wretch, without doubt he had had a 
hard time of it ; what wonder that he had 
seized upon the first opportunity of escape t 
He had said that the favour he required 
would entail personal inconvenience on my- 
self, and that was exactly what it did, I 
looked at the matter from all sides ; I saw 
the dilemma I was in. It would not do to 
be seen in this branded garb — the police 
would lay hands on me at once ; nothing 
would persuade them that I was not the con^ 
vicL Indeed, who was likely to believe the 
improbable story I had to tell ? I felt that I 
could expect few to credit it on my m^re 
word, and I had nothing to prove my iden- 
tity, for I remembered now that my pocket- 
book an^tyflS ijffir^Tyiy coat; I had 


3 6 9 


s> m 

never given them a thought when making the 
exchange of clothes. So, as things were, it 
might take some days for me to establish my 
real personality, and even when that were 
done I should still be held responsible for 
conniving at the prisoner's escape. 

All things considered. therefore, I resolved 
not to get into the hands of the police. But 
this was no easy matter. There was nothing 
for it but to walk, I could not face the 
publicity of railway travelling or of any other 
conveyance ; indeed, it was impossible for 
me to buy food for myself, 

I had many narrow escapes from detection, 
but by dint of hiding through the day and 
walking at night, and now and then bribing a 
small child to buy me something to eat, I 


contrived to get slowly on my way. It was on 
the evening of the third day that I reached 
home, I often thought, somewhat bitterly, 
of my short cut through the tunnel and all 
the delay it had caused ! 

When I actually stood outside the little 
cottage which I called home, and looked up 
at the windows, the hope that had buoyed 
me up for so long deserted me, and I dreaded 
to enter. At last, however, I opened the 

gate and walked up the garden. There was 
a light in the small sitting-room ; the curtains 
were not drawn, and 1 could see my sister 
Kitty seated by the table. She had evidently 
been weeping bitterly, and as she raised her 
face there was an expression of such hope- 
less sorrow in her eyes that my heart seerned 
to Stop beating as I looked at her. Mary 
must be very ill* Perhaps — but no, I could 
not finish the sentence even in thought. 
I turned hastily, lifted the latch and went in. 
11 Kitty!' 1 I said, with my hand on the 
room door ; ** it's I, Jack ! don't be 

She gave a little scream, and, it seemed to 

me, shrank back from me, as if I had been a 

ghost ; but the next instant she sprang into 

my arms with a glad cry of> 

" Jack, Jack ! is it really 


u Yes t Kitty, who else 
should it be?" I said, 
reassuringly. *'But tell 
me — how is she? How 
is Mary ? me hear the 

Kitty looked up brightly : 
" Mary ! oh, she is hetter, 
much better, and now that 
you are here, Jack, she will 
soon be well ! " 

I drew a breath of intense 
relief. Then, touching my 
little sister's pale, tear- 
stained face, I asked what 
had so troubled her* 

"Oh! Jack," she whis- 
pered, " it was you ! I 
thought you were dead ! tr 
She handed me an evening 
paper, and pointed out a 
paragraph which stated thru. 
a fatal accident had occurred 
in the Blank Tunnel. A 
man named John Blount, 
a commercial traveller, had 
been killed ; it was believed 
while attempting to walk 
through the tunnel to the 
The body had been found, 
early the previous morning, by some plate- 
layers at work on the line. The deceased was 
only identified by a letter found upon him. 

And so, poor fellow, he had met his fate 
in the very death from which he had saved 
me ! In the midst of my own happiness my 
heart grew very sorrowful as I thought of 
him, my unknown friend, whose face I had 

nev ^jffl^A UNIVERSITY 

junction station. 

The Royal Humane Society. 


EW Institutions appeal more 
strongly to popular sympathy 
than the Royal Humane 
Society, The rewards which 
it bestows upon its members* 
who are distinguished for a 
self-forgetting bravery which thrills the blood 
to read of, are merely the outward tokens of 
admiration which is felt by every heart. 
Those members include persons of all ranks 
of life: men, women, and children; nay, 
even animals are not excepted t and a dog 
wore the medal with conscious pride* We 
have selected the follow- 
ing examples out of 
thousands, not because 
th^y are more deserving 
of admiration than the 
rest, but because they 
are fair specimens of the 
acts of self - devotion 
which have won the 
medals of the Society in 
recent years. 

Lieutenant J. de 

" On Thursday, the 
10th September, 1874, 
at 9.30 p.m., in the 
gateway between the 
outer and inner harbour 
at Lowestoft, Suffolk, 
James Dorling fell over- 
board from the yacht 
Part whilst she was 
making for the inner 
harbour in a strong 
half -flood tideway, the 


night very dark, blowing and raining hard, and 
going about five and a half knots. Lieutenant 
(now Captain) J, de Hoghton, 10th Foot, 
jumped overboardj swam to Dor ling, and sup- 
ported him in the water for about a quarter of 
an hour in the tideway, between narrow T high 
pilework, without crossbeams or side chains 
to lay hold of } and the bead of the pile- 
work 12ft, or 15ft above the water — the 
yacht being carried away into the inner 
harbour, and no other vessel or boat in the 
gateway to lend assistance ; the darkness 
prevented any immediate help being obtained 
from the shore. The 
length of the gateway 
was about 350 yards, 
width 15 to 30 yards, 
depth 1 oft, to 15ft 
Lieutenant de Hoghton 
and Dorling were ulti- 
mately drawn up the 
pile work by ropes from 

the shore," 
Sub-Lieut. R. A* R 


" On a dark night, 6th 
April, 1877, H31.S, 
Tmmor ta lite was under 
sail, going four-and-a-half 
knots before the wind, 
the sea rough for swim- 
ming, and abounding 
with sharks, when T. E, 
Hocken, O.S., fell over- 
board, Sub-Lieut. R. A, F. 
Montgomerie, R,A*, 
jumped overboard from 

INDfiNAWtf*ft- a height of 




twenty-five feet, to his assistance, swam to him, 
got hold of the man, and hauled him on to 
his back then swam with him to where he 

± m 

JPrwm a Photo. fry W. and J}. Downey, 

supposed the life-buoy would be ; but, seeing 
no relief, he states that after keeping him 
afloat some time, he told the man to keep 
himself afloat whilst he took his clothes off. 
He had got his coat and shirt off, and was in 
the act of taking off his trousers when 
Hocken, in sinking, caught him by the legs 
and dragged him down a considerable depth. 
His trousers luckily carne off clear, and he 
swam to the surface, bringing the drowning 
man with him. Hocken was now insensible. 
He was eventually picked up by a second 
boat that was lowered, after having been 
over twenty-one minutes in the water, the 
first boat having missed him- The life-buoy 
was not seen." 

Lieutenant Lewis R Wintz, R.N\ 
(Now Commander De Wintz-) 

"On the 19th December, 1877, H.M.S. 
Raleigh was running before a fresh breeze at 
the rate of seven knots an hour off the Island 
of Tenedos, when James Maker fell from 
aloft into the sea. Lieutenant Lewis E. 
Wintz immediately jumped overboard and 
supported the man for twenty minutes at 
considerable risk (not being able to reach 
the life-buoy). The man must undoubtedly 
have been drowned (being insensible and 
seriously injured) had it not been for the 
bravery of this officer/' 


From a Photo, bv H^rg Waiftand t UiackheatfL 

Constable John Jenkins. 
(E Division, Metropolitan Police Force.) 

" Constable John Jenkins was on duty on 
Waterloo Bridge at 2.45 a,m, on the 14th 
July, 1882, when he saw a man mount the 
parapet and throw himself into the river. 
Without hesitation, the constable unfastened 
his belt, and jumped from the bridge after 
him. Notwithstanding a determined resis- 
tance on thu i part of the would-be suicide, 
Constable Jenkins succeeded in seizing the 



man and supporting him above water until 
both were picked up some distance down the 
river by a boat, which was promptly sent from 
the Thames Police Station. The danger in- 
curred in this rescue may be fairly estimated 
when it appears that the height jumped was 
f arty-three feet, the tide was running out 
under the arches at the rate of six miles an 
hour, and a thick mist covered the river T so 
much so as to render it impossible to see 
any object in th f ^ centre of the river from 
either side. The place where the men 
entered the water was a hundred and seventy 
yards from shore." 

Walter Clever lev, 

"Oith? r^th September, 1883, the steam- 
ship Reiva was proceeding through the Gulf 
of Aden, when a Lascar fell overboard. 
Being unable V\ swim, he drifted astern 
rapidly. Mr, Walter Cleverley, a passenger, 
promptly jumped overboard, swam to the 
man— then fifty yards from the ship— and 
assisted him to a life-buoy, which was pre- 


From a Ph&tu, bp W. J. Rubinm** LamdpcrL 

viously thrown, The vessel was going thir- 
teen knots an hour Captain Hay, com- 
manding the ship, states: 4 The danger 
incurred was incalculable, as the sea there- 
abouts is infested with sharks. The salvor 
was forty minutes in the water, supporting 
the man. Cleverley jumped off top of the 

poop, a height of thirty feet to the surface of 
the water/ " 

Lieut, the Hon. William Grimston, R.N. 

"On the 29th August, 1884, off Beyrout, 
H.M.S. Alexandra was steaming at the rate 
of four knots an hour, when a man fell over- 
board. Lieut the Hon. William Grimston 

Frtna a PktAa. by i(a«M 

dropped from his port into the sea, and suc- 
ceeded in holding the man on the surface of 
the water until two seamen (who had jumped 
overboard) came to his assistance. The 
special danger in this rescue is brought to the 
Society's notice by Captain Rawson, R,N., 
commanding the ship. The port through 
which the officer had to drop is very small, 
and situated just before the double screw, 
which was then revolving ; in fact, the salvor 
passed through the circle made by it." 

Alfred Collins, aged 21, Fisherman. 

"The fishing lugger Water Nymph y of I-ooe, 
was seven or eight miles east-south-east of 
the 'EddwtfittfiV^iitWrftWlt of the 16th 

«P ) 



December, 1884, when a boy named Hos- 
kings fell overboard, and was soon about 
eighty feet astern, The captain of the boat, 
Alfred Collins, immediately jumped in to the 


A[.i-'ixi:s> coi.lins. H08KIHG5. 

Ptttm a Ph&to, bff ffairk^ Plymouth, 

rescue, carrying the end of a rope with him ; 
he was clothed in oilskins and sea-boots. 
After a great deal of difficulty Hoskings was 
reached and pulled on board At the time 
this gallant act was performed there was a 
f^ale of wind blowing, with heavy rain, and 
the night was dark. The Silver Medal was 
voted to Alfred Collins on the 20th January, 

Captain H. N. McRae, 45th (Rattray's) Sikhs 
(assisted by Captain H. Holmes). 

41 At s a.m. on the 5th October, 1886, a 
trumpeter of the Royal Artillery was crossing 
the compound of Captain Holmes's bungalow 
at Rawal Pindi, when he fell into a well. On 
hearing the alarm, Captain Holmes, Captain 
McRae, and Lieutenant Taylor proceeded to 
the spot. On arriving they found that Mr. 
Grose had preceded them, and had let down 
a well-rope, which was of sufficient length to 
reach the soldier and capable of sustaining 
him for a time. Both Captain McRae and 
Captain Holmes volunteered to go down, but 
as the former was a light-weight it was 

decided that he should make the trial, Captain 
Holmes demurring, as he wished to undertake 
the risk himself. The rope being very weak, 
it could not possibly have borne Captain 
Holmes's great weight. Captain McRae 
was accordingly let down by means of a 
four-strand tent rope, and on reaching 
the water found the soldier practically 
insensible ; he therefore decided to go 
up with him. Captain Holmes was at the 
head of the rope, and his strength enabled 
him to lift both completely. At every haul, 
the amount gained was held in check by the 
other persons above* After hauling up 
about 1 oft. or 15ft, the rope broke, precipi- 
tating Captain McRae and his charge to the 
bottom of the well. A second attempt was 
then made, and both were brought to the 


Fmm a I'hvto, bf Winter, Hunger. 

surface. The depth of the well was 88ft. t of 
which 12ft. was water. It was quite dark at 
the time. Very great personal risk was in- 
curred by Captain McRae, The Silver 
Medal was unanimously voted to him," 

Mr. J as. Power. 

41 On the 1 6th August, 1890, about u.30 
p.m., two ladies had a narrow escape from 
drowning whilst bathing at Tramore, Col 
Waterfouh Mr Jas. Power, who ran out 
from an adjacent hotel on hearing the alarm, 
saw a young man with a life-buoy struggling 
in the sea about 150 yards from shore; further 
out, and fully 250 yards from the beach, two 
ladies appeared to be in imminent danger, 
being rapidly carried out by the strong ebb 
tide. ImRAlffAJcyiir'ftBfilWam to the young 

fc Vol. v, 40. 



ma.n, but finding that he was unable to swim 
and could not dispense with the life-buoy, he 
turned on his back and towed the man with 


Fwm\ a Pk&ta by Lawrence* DuhUn. 

Ihe life-buoy out to where the ladies w*ere, 
and then with the aid of the buoy he brought 
the three safely to land. The Silver Medal 
was voted to Mr, Jas. Power." 

John Connell, Boatman, Coastguard 

"About 4 a,m. on the 19th October, 1890, 
the sailing vessel Genes/a r of Grimsby, be- 
came stranded on the Yorkshire coast near 
Wither nsea. Three of the crew were safely 
landed in the breeches buoy, after communi- 
cation had been effected by means of the 
rocket apparatus, but one man, who had 
taken refuge in the crosstrees, was unable 
from exhaustion to avail himself of the 
means afforded. The ship's mate attempted 
to get him clear of the rigging, but the man 
seemed powerless to help himself, yet equal 
to holding on tenaciously at his post In 
this position the man was left until John 
Connell gallantly went off to the vessel and 
rescued him at considerable personal risk. 
The ship was bumping, and might hive gone 
to pieces at any moment The weather was 
so bad that one man died in the rigging from 
exhaustion. The Silver Medal was awarded 
to John Connell," 

Fivm a liUfUh bg /L»rfy, Lawtpart. 

"About one o'clock a.m., on the 25th 
November, 1890, Constabh- IVnnett, being 



on duty at Tower Hill, saw a man throw him- 
self into the Thames, apparently with the 
intention of committing suicide. He at 
once divested himself of lamp and belt, and 
without waiting to take off his uniform, 
jumped into the river, seized hold of the 
struggling man, and gallantly rescued him. 
The night was dark. The magistrate who 
investigated the case strongly commended 
the constable's courage and presence of 
mind. The Silver Medal was awarded to 
Constable Wm. Bennett." 

Suleiman Girby. 
(Chief Boatman to Messrs, Thos. Cook and 
Son, at Jaffa,) 
11 The Russian steamer Ickikafch&ff was 
wrecked on the rocks of Jaffa on the 18th 
February, i8yi. More than twenty passen- 
gers had been swept away before anything 
was done to save life. At 6,30 a.m., on the 
rgth February, Girby and his brothers 
launched a boat, and proceeded to the 
vessel, from whence they brought off a 
number of the passengers and landed them. 
In making a second attempt their boat 
was smashed against the inner reef, and 
it was found impossible to launch another. 

Gifby then swam 
backwards and 
forwards to the 
vessel fifteen 
times, bringing 
someone with 
him to shore eacli 
time. The Silver 
Medal was voted 
to Suleiman 

"At 8 p.m. on 
the 26th April, 
1 89 1, the French 
frigate Seignelay 
parted anchors, 
and was carried 
on to the rocks at 
Jaffa. It was blow- 
ing a heavy gale 
at the time, and 
none of the na- 
tives, excepting 
Girby, would offer 
the slightest as- 
sistance. Girby 
volunteered to 
swim to the shio 


From a Pkrfo. fc# 3ob**pi* Jaffa* 


by Google 

and deliver a letter to the captain from 
the Governor- The ship was half a mile 
from shore, but he accomplished the work 
after a two hours' swim in a heavy sea. 
After doing this he dived under the ship 
and examined the hull, reporting her 
sound. He then swam ashore, Liking a 
message from the captain. Towards morning, 
when the sea gothigher 5 the cap tain signal led, 
and Suleiman again swam out, and brought 
back the captain's wife fastened on his back, 
The Silver Clasp was voted to Suleiman 

Edith Brill. 

u Edith Brill, age ten, saved Frank Hill, 
two and a half years old, at 6.45 p.m >, 6th 
June, 1882, at the Graving Deck, Royal 

J-.JJlTIJ Hkll.L. 

Frvttt a FJmto. by Cvhb d' A'sir* rjuntsttad ItoatL 

Dockyard, Woolwich. The child Hill was 
pulled into the water by a boy who had 
stumbled in some very foul and deep water. 
Little Edith Brill pluckily ran down the deep 
steps of the dock and went up to her neck 
in the water, and held the child up until 
John Hill helped her out The boy Whorley 
who had fallen in was drowned," 
(T& be con tinned.) 

Original from 

A Strange Reunion, 

By T. G. Atkinson. 

M a poor little house in a 
wretched little town on a 
miserable day in November, 
two men sat by a small wood 
fire, warming their hands at the 
tiny blaze and silently watching 
the flicker of the flames. They were both 
young men ; the elder was not more than 
twenty-six or seven and the younger as 
perhaps a year behind. 


One of them was plain Charlie Osborne ; 
the other rejoiced in the more aristocratic: 
sobriquet of Eustace Margraf. But it 
mattered little by what different names they 
were called, since Fortune had forgotten to 
call on both alike. In short, they were 
41 broke " — almost "stony broke." There 
had been a lock-out at the works at which 
they were both employed, and although they 
had neither of them joined the combination, 
they were none the less out of a job, and the 
fact of their former employment at the works 
that had locked them out told heavily 
against their chance of procuring other work 
in the town. 

Neither was there much likelihood of their 
going back to the works , for the owners were, 
rich men who could afford a long struggle, 
and the men were obstinate ; and even if the 
strikers ever got back, Osborne and Margraf 
were in the awkward positions of being 
blacklegs. Thus it was that Fortune had for- 
gotten these two young men who sat by their 
little fire, doggedly silent, too low-hearted 
even to curse Fortune, 

" I shall go to I^ondon^ 
Charlie," said the elder,, 
suddenly, without looking, 

"What shall we do 
there?" growled the other. 
Osborne and Margraf had 
been more inseparable! 
than brothers since the 
death of each of their 
parents ten years ago. 
Therefore it was that r 
when thelatter announced 
his intention oi going to- 
London, the former in- 
stantly assumed his own 
share in the venture, and 
asked : — 

" What shall we do in 
I.ondon ? n 

"Don't know till I 
get there," answered 
Margraf, who, be it ob- 
served, did not encourage 
the first person plural. 
First person singular was^ 
a good deal more in his 
line. Yet he loved his chum, too, in his, 
own way ; but it was not the best way, 
" What's the use of going, then ? " 

" What's the use of staying in this d 

show? What's the use of tramping round 
day and night after a job that never comes ? 
Whats the use of anything? Fm tired of 
mill work ; it isn't what 1 was made for. 
Fm going to try my luck at something better. 
You needn't come." 

But because Charlie Osborne was accus- 
tomed to be led l.y his comrade, he too 
gave out his intention. to try his fortunes- 
in London. This was nat quite what Mar- 
graf wanted]' ^'•fft^CTraMfl^ 'Had a scheme- 






in contemplation in which he would prefer to 
be alone, 

"HI tell you what, Charlie, old fellow/' 
he said after awhile* "I've got a plan I 
want you to help carry out. I want you and 
me to separate for three years — only three 
years — and try our luck alone. At the end 
of the three years we will meet again and see 
how each has got on, and divide takings*" 

"Not see each other at all?" asked 
Charlie, ruefully. His love for his chum was 
of the better kind ; the second person singular 

" No, not at all," answered the other, 
firmly, as though 
he were laying 
down a painful but 
apparent duty, 
M Not have any 
with each other 
except in case of 
extreme necessity. 
In that case we 
can put an adver- 
tisement in the 
Daily Telegraph. 
We will make a 
point of always 
seeing that paper." 

After a longer 
demur than he was 
accustomed to 
raise toany scheme 
of Margraf 's, how- 
ever wild and chi- 
merical, Charlie at 
last let his usual 
submission, and a 
vague suspicion 
that his com- 
panionship might 
he dragging Mar- 
graf back from 
attaining a posi- 
tion more worthy 
of that gentleman's 

talent^ get the better of him. He made a 
hard fight for the privilege of exchanging letters 
during the three years, but Eustace remained 
obdurate. There was to be no communica- 
tion except under the circumstances and in 
the manner named. Each was to take care 
to see the Daily Ttfcgraph every morning in 
case of such communications j and at the 
exact expiration of the three years, that is, on 
the 15th November, 188 — , they were to meet 
at twelve o'clock noon at Charing Cross station* 

So these two men divided up their little 


stock of belongings and smaller capital of 
money, took a third-class ticket each to 
London, went together to Charing Cross to 
verify the scene of their future reunion, and 
shook hands* 

"We meet here in three years from 

11 We do, all being well Good-bye, 

u Good-bye, old fellow." 

Thus they parted, each on his separate 
quest for fortune. 

On the evening of the 14th November, 

188 — t Eustace 
Margraf, Esq,, 
Director and 
Chairman of the 
Anglican Deben- 
ture Corporation, 
Ltd., eke of the 
General Stock and 
Share hoi ders* Pro- 
tective Union, 
Ltd*, and various 
other like specula- 
tive companies, sat 
in the luxurious 
dining-room of his 
well -appointed 
residence in I ,ewis- 
ham Park, He 
had finished his 
sumptuous but 
solitary meal, and, 
reclining in a spa- 
cious armchair,, 
sipped his rare old 
wine. It was three 
years all but a day 
since he had parted 
from Charlie Os- 
borne on Charing 
Cross Station, and 
set out with 
eightcenpence in 
his pocket to seek 
his fortune. In that brief time he had rapidly 
risen to wealth and distinction. Three years 
ago he was a penniless mechanic, forsaken by 
Fortune and discontented with his life ; to-day 
he was a rich man, smiled on and courted by 
Fortune and envied by all her minions^ and 
still ho was discontented with his life. 

It was strange that he should cherish this 
discontent, for Eustace Margraf, mindful of 
the fact that he was made for something 
better th?,n mill work, had matriculated and 
ff ra 4H?^flA a B^^^ d,s University in the 



Department of Forgery and Theft He had 
taken the highest diplomas in fraud ; he had 
I'.iSM.-d with honours the test of an accom- 
plished swindler ; and in the intricacies of 
■embezzlement he was Senior Wrangler, Yet 
he was not content; some men are never 

This evening, as lie sat sampling his 
? iK Oporto, with the daily paper at his 
elbow, he actually felt some amount of 
regret that he had entered the course for 
,sueh distinctions — which, by the way, his 
modesty forbade him publishing to the world 
&t large. Only a select few knew the extent 
of his accomplishments. 

In the paper at his side there was a little 
paragraph which had given his memory a 
rather unpleasant jog. It was in the personal 
column, and ran as follows : " R. AL — Hunt 
forget to-morrow, noon, C\ C« Station, — 
Charlie." He wanted to see Charlie, for he 
still loved him after his old fashion ; but the 
memories which the advertisement called up, 
and a doubt as to whether Charlie would 
appreciate his accomplishments, made him 
fidgety ; and the recollection of all that must 
pass between now and noon to-morrow filled 
him with uneasiness. For to-night he was to 
stake everything in one tremendous venture. 
If he succeeded he would need to do nothing 
more all his life ; if he failed- 

just before starting, which would take effect 
about an hour after administration and last 
till the sleepers should be aroused by brandy. 
During their slumber the stoker would pull 
up at convenient places on the line to allow 
the robbers to enter the guard's carriage and 
leave it with their booty, when they would 
make off to where Margraf had arranged to 
meet them ; he would manage the rest. The 
front guard and the driver, meanwhile, would 
for their own sakes be glad enough to say 
nothing about their long slumber* 

All these arrangements had been made 
with great nicety, and told over twice ; and 
yet Margraf was uneasy and nervous as he 
thought of all the risk he ran. Twice he 
stretched out his hand for the bell-rope for 
telegram forms to stay the whole business; 
once he w + ent so far as to ring the bell, but 
he altered his mind by the time the servant 
answered it, and ordered hot brandy instead. 
It was now six o'clock; in another hour he 
must hand over the duplicate key to his 
accomplices and board the train for Dover. 

Every moment he grew more nervous, his 
hand became so shaky that brandy failed to 
steady it j his face grew r pale and haggard ; 
his nerves were strung to a painful tension ; 
and all sorts of possibilities of failure in his 
scheme haunted him till he could have cried 
out from sheer nervousness* 

To-night, at eight o'clock, the Continental 
mail train would start from Charing Cross 
Station with seventy-five thousand pounds 
worth of bullion for the Bank of France, If 
Eustace Margraf succeeded in his enterprise, 
it would reach Paris with the same weight of 
valueless shot in the strong iron boxes. 

Everything had been nicely and minutely 
arranged. The shot had been carefully 
weighed to a quarter of a grain, and portioned 
into three equal lots to match the cases of 
bullion, which would be weighed on leaving 
London, again at Dover, once more at 
Calais, and finally on arrival at Paris. A 
key to fit the cases had been secretly made ^JJ^i, 
from a w r ax impression of the original, how v 
obtained none but Margraf knew. This 
key he would hand to his confederates 
this evening at Charing Cross Station, after 
which he would go down by the seven 
o'clock train preceding the mail 

The stoker of the mail, an old railway 
hand, had been bribed, together with the 
guard in whose compartment the bullion 
would travel It had been thought desirable 
to deal differently with the front guard and 
the driver ■ a specially prepared and powerful 
drug was to be given them in a pint of beer 




■ A, - ,F tN^.mnjmwRsifr 1, 



"God!" he exclaimed, as he drained a 
glass of brandy and water and rose to go. 
" A life like thts would kill me. Well, this 
shall be the last risk. If it turns out all 
right— as it must — I shall give this kind of 
business up, I shall have plenty then, and 
old Charlie will go off and live quietly and 
comfortably. 73 

The rear guard of the seven odock 
Continental finished his last cup of tea, put 
on his thick winter coat, kissed his wife and 
baby girl, and took up his lantern preparatory 
to joining his train. He reached the station 
as the great engine was being coupled and 
gave the driver a cheery salute, which that 
official acknowledged with a surly growl 

"Something put Jimmy out to-night," he 
laughed to the fireman, a young, inexperienced 
fellow, making his trial trip, and passed on 
to make his inspection of things in general 
before starting. 

At the last moment a richly-dressed gentle- 
man, wearing a long fur coat, and carrying a 
large travelling rug, entered a first-class 
smoking compartment 
This gentleman, whom 
numerous people on the 
platform recognised as 
he passed and saluted 
respectfully, was Eustace 
Margraf, Esq* The car- 
riage he got into was an 
ompty one, and, lying 
full length on the seat, 
covered with his rug, he 
lit a cigar and composed 
himself to make the best 
of a long and tiresome 

the train was travelling at a most unusual and 
unaccountable speed ; and, as he leapt to his 
feet in a half-dazed fright, they shot through 
Tunbridge— a place at which they were timed 
to make a ten minutes 1 stop — and he was 
conscious of seeing, as in a flash, a crowd of 
frightened and awe-struck faces looking at 
the train from the platform. He sank back 
on the cushioned seat, seized with a nameless 
terror. Time and space seemed to his over- 
wrought nerves to be filled with tokens of 
some approaching calamity which he was 
powerless to prevent ; the terrific speed and 
violent swaying of the train, the shrill howl 
of the ceaseless whistle, the terrible darkness 
and silence of everything outside his 
immediate surroundings, and the recollection 
of that crowd of terrified faces, all seemed to 
thrill him with a sense of impending horror, 
and the wretched man sat terror-stricken on 
his seat, a mere mass of highly-strung and 
delicate nerves. 

Suddenly, as he looked into the black 
night, a face passed the window, as of some- 
one walking along the footboard to the 

railway journey. The 
guard blew his whistle, 
the great engine repro- 
duced it in a loud, deep 
tone, and the train 
steamed slowly out of 
the station, twenty 
minutes late in starting* 
Ijeft to his own re- 
flections, which were 
none of the liveliest, and 
lulled by the motion of 
the train , our traveller 
soon fell into a fitful 
sleep, wherein he was 
haunted by dreams that wrought upon his 
brain until he was almost as nervous as he 
had been in his own room some hours 


engine ; a stern -set face, as of one going to 
certain danger and needing all the pluck he 
possessed to carry him through ; and at the 
apparition the traveller fairly shrieked aloud; 

He awoke suddenly, with a vague sense that but |f^ Jj^fle Et1ffl^?ITf nd was gone ' 



In another moment there was a sudden 
shout — a terrific crash — a wild chaos of 
sight and sound— and our traveller knew no 

When next he found his senses, he was 
lying among cushions and rugs in the 
waiting-room at Tunbridge Wells Station, 
He awoke with a faint shiver, and tried to 
raise himself, but found to his astonishment 
that he could not so much as lift a finger. As 
a matter of fact, he was among those whom 
the busy surgeons had given upas a desperate 
case ; and, after doing all in their power to 
ease him, abandons' in favour of more 
hopeful subjects ; but this he did not know. 

Several of the passengers whose injuries 
were only very slight were discussing the 
accident in an animated manner, and, as 
usual in such cases, many wild and fanciful 
conjectures were passed about as truth* At 
last one said ;— 

" Does anyone know the rights of the 
matter ? " 

* £ Yes, I do," volunteered a young man 
with an arm in a sling; and Margraf lay 
silently listening, unable to move or speak. 

"Well, what is it?" 

"Just after we passed Grove Park, the 
fireman was on the front of the engine oiling, 
when he felt the locomotive increasing in 
speed till it became so appalling that he grew 
terrified and could not get back. He is a 
young fellow, and this is his trial trip. At 
length he managed to crawl back to the cab, 
where he found the driver lying, as he sup 
posed, dead* This so increased his terror that 
he was only able to open the whistle and 
pull the cord com- 
municating with 
the rearguard, and 
then fell in a swoon 
across the tender. 

"The rear 
guard, a plucky 
young fellow of 
about six-and- 
twenty, twigging 
the situation, 
came, as we all 
know, along the 
footboard to the / 
engine " — Margraf 
listened with all 
his remaining 
strength — " in 
order to stop the 
train before it ran 

into the Ramsgate express, but apparently 
was too late." 

" But what was up with the driver, and where 
was the front guard in the meanwhile? " 

"Well, it appears from what the front 
guard says — marvellous how he escaped with 
hardly a scratch — both these to en had been 
drugged, and as they were both of them to 
have run the mail train to the Continent 
to-night, things look very fish>V 

Margraf nearly fainted in his efforts to 
listen more intensely, 

"They were changed on to this train at 
the last moment, and hence this accident. 
The rear guard, poor fellow, was shockingly 
mangled. Stone dead, of course ; and 
leaves, I understand, a wife and child. 
There will no doubt be a collection made for 
him. He was a plucky fellow." 

" Does anyone know his name ?* asked one. 

" Yes ; his name was Charlie Osborne." 

There was a heartrending groan from the 
cushions and rugs. 

" Here/' cried a young medical student 
among the party to a passing surgeon, t£ you'd 
better come and have a look at this poor chap. 
He isn't as dead as you thought he was." 

The surgeon came and looked at Margraf* 

a Isn't he ? w he said, in his cool, pro- 
fessional way. *' He is a good deal farther 
gone than I thought He couldn't be gone 
much farther." 


Original from 

by Google 

From Behind the Speakers Chair, 




I SUPPOSE if anyone has a right 
to indulge in the convenience of 
indented headings when writing a 
discursive article, I may claim a 
share in the privilege- When I retired from 
theeditorshipof a morn- 
ing newspaper, a not 
obtrusively friendly 
commentator wrote 
that my chief claim to 
be remembered in that 
connection was that I 
had invented sign-posts 
for leading articles. Hut 
he was careful to add, 
lest I should be puffed 
up, this was not suffi- 
cient to establish 
editorial reputation. 

It is true ; but it is interesting to observe 
how the way thus adventured upon has 
grown crowded The abstentions indicate a 
curious and interesting habitude ingrained in 
the English Press. Whilst most of the 
weekly papers, not only in the provinces but 
in London, have adopted the new fashion, 
no daily paper in London, and in the country 
only one here and there, has followed it. 
That is a nice distinction, illustrating a 
peculiarity of our honoured profession. As 
it was a daily paper that made the innova- 
tion, weekly papers may, without loss of 
dignity, adopt the custom as their own, 
But it is well known that, in London at 
least, there is only one daily p:i[>cr, and that 
is the " U'e " shaking from a particular 
address, located somewhere between 
Temple iiar and St. Pauls. 

Argal, it is impossible that this peculiarly 
situated entity should borrow from other 
papers. Yet I once heard the manager 
of what we are pleased to call the leading 
journal confess he envied the Daily Ntwi 
side-headings to its leaders, and regretted 
the impossibility of adapting them for his 
own journal. That was an opinion delivered 
in mufti. In full uniform, no manager 
certainly no editor — of another morning 

paper is aware of the existence of the 
Daily News ; the Daily Neu% on its part, 
being courageously steeped in equally dense 
ignorance of the existence of other journals. 
Few things are so funny as the start of 
surprise with which a 
London journal upon 
rare occasion luidi it- 
self face to face with 
a something that also 
appears every morning 
at a price varying from 
a penny to threepence. 
Nothing will induce it 
to give the phenomenon 
a name, and it distantly 
alludes to it as 4£ a con- 
temporary. 1 ' This is 
epiite peculiar to Great 
Britain, and is in its way akin to the eti- 
quette of the House of Commons, which 
makes it a breach of order to refer to 
a member by his proper name. It does 
not exist in France or the United States, and 
there are not lacking signs that the absurd 
lengths to which it has hitherto been 
carried out in the Knglish Press are being 


fginal from 


Vat. v ^sa 






But that is an aside, meant 
only to introduce an old friend 
in a new place, I was going to 
explain how it came about that, 
in the mid -February issue of The Strand 
Magazine, the name of Sir Walter Barttelot 
1 should appear in the list of members of the 
present House of Commons who had seats in 
the House in 1873, and that another number 
of the Magazine lias been issued without the 
correction, widely made elsewhere, being 
noted* It is due simply to the fact of the 
phenomenal circulation of a magazine which, 
in order to be out to date, requires its 
contributors to send in their copy some two 
months^ in advance, 

It is not too late to say a word about 
the late member for Sussex, a type 
rapidly disappearing from the Parliamentary 
stage. He entered the House thirty-three 
years ago, when Lord Palmers ton was Pre- 
mier, Mr. Gladstone was Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, Sir George Cornewall Lewis was 
at the Home Office, and Lord John Russell 
looked after Foreign Affairs. 

The House of Commons was a different 
place in those days, the heritage of the 
classes, a closed door against any son 
of the masses. Sir Walter was born a 
country gentleman, his natural prejudices 
not being smoothed down by a term 
of service in the Dragoon Guards. He 
was not a brilliant man, nor, beyond the 
level attainments of a county magistrate, an 
able one. But he was thoroughly honest ; 
suspected himself of ingrained prejudice, 
and always fought against it. He suffered 
and learnt much during his long Parliamentary 

One of the earliest shocks dealt him was 
the appearance In the House of Mr, Cham- 
berlain, newly elected for 
Birmingham. It is difficult 
at this time of day to realize 
the attitude in which the 
gentlemen of England sixteen 
years ago stood towards the 
statesman who is now proudly- 
numbered in their ranks. 
When he presented himself to 
be sworn in, it was one of 
the jokes of the day that Sir 
Walter Barttelot expected he 
would approach the Table 
making " a cart-wheel " down 
the floor, as ragged little boys 
disport themselves along the 
pavement when a drag or om- 
nibus passes. Sir Walter wa$ 


genuinely surprised 
to find in the 
fearsome Bir- 
mingham Radical a 
well- man nered, al- 
most boyish-looking 
man, who spoke in 
a clear, admirably 
pitched voice, and 
opposed the Prisons 
Bill, then under dis- 
cussion, on the very 
lines from which Sir 
Walter had himself 
attacked it when it 
was brought in dur- 
ing the previous 

It was charac- 
teristic of this fine 
old English gentle- 
man that, having 
done a man an in- 
justice by uncon- 
sciously forming a wrong opinion about him, 
he hastened forthwith to make amends. 

" If," he said, when Mr. Chamberlain had 
resumed his seat, "the hon. member for Bir- 
mingham will always address the House with 
the same quietness, and with the same intel- 
ligence displayed on this occasion, I can 
assure him the House of Commons will 
always be ready to listen to him." 

This is delicious, looking hack over the 
years, watching Mr. Chamberlain's soaring 
flight, and thinking of the good county 
member thus loftily patronizing him. But 
it was a bold thing to be said at that time of 
Mr. Chamberlain by Sir Walter Barttelot, and 
some friends who sat near him thought his 
charity had led him a little 
too far. 

The Sussex squire was of 
a fine nature simple, ever 
ready to be moved by generous 
impulses. There were two 
men coming across the moon- 
light orbit of his Parlia- 
mentary life whose conduct 
he detested, and whose in- 
fluence he feared. One was 
Mr. Parnell, the other Mr 
Bradlaugh, Vet when the 
Commission acquitted Mr. 
Parnell of the charges brought 
against him by the forged 

I hi n I A M = Wlite[k[Sftv^ a ' ter Barttelot 
B| -scHJJht him out in the Lobby, 



publicly shook hands with him, and con- 
gratulated him upon the result of the 
inquiry. When Air. Bradlaugh lay on 
his death-bed, on the very night the House 
of Commons was debating the resolution 
to expunge from the 
Order Book the dictum 
that stood there through 
eleven years, declaring 
him ineligible either to 
take the oath or to make 
affirmation, Sir Walter 
Barttelot appealed to the 
House unanimously to 
pass the motion, conclud- 
ing his remarks with 
emphatic expression of 
the hope that **God 
would spare Mr* Brad- 
laughs life." 

Sir Walter never re- 
covered from the blow 
dealt by the death of 'w 

his son in Africa, aggra- 
vated as the sorrow was by the controversy 
which followed. Of late years he spoke 
very little ; but in the Parliaments of 1874-80 
and 1880-85 ^ e was a frequent participator 
in debate. He was no orator, nor did he 
contribute original ideas to current dis- 
cussion. Moreover, what he had to say was 
so tortured by the style of delivery that it 
lost something of whatever force naturally 
belonged to it, 

I have a verbatim note taken fifteen years 
ago of a speech delivered in the House of 
Commons by Sir Walter, which faintly echoes 
an oratorical style whose master is no longer 
with us. It lacks the inconsequential 
emphasis, the terrific vigour of the gesture, 
and the impression conveyed by the speaker ^ 
intense earnestness, that really, by-and-by, 
he would say something, which compelled 
the attention of new members and strangers 
in the gallery* But if the reader imagines 
portentous pauses represented by the hyphens, 
and the deepening to tragic tones of the 
words marked in italics, he may in some 
measure realize the effect 

The speech from which this passage was 
taken was delivered in debate upon a resolu- 
tion moved by Mr, Forster on the Cattle Plague 
Orders. Whenever in the passage Mr, 
Forster is personally alluded to it is necessary, 
in order to full realization of the scene, to pic- 
ture Sir Walter shaking a minatory forefinger, 
sideways, at the right hon. gentleman, not 
looking at him, but pointing him out to 
the scorn of mankind and the reprobation 

of country gentlemen : il Yet he knows 
[here the finger wags] — and knows full 
well — in the — position he occupies— making 
a proposal of this kind — must be one — 
which — must be— fatal — to — the Bill A 7 o 
one knows better than the 
right hon* gentleman— 
that when— he — raises a 
great question of this 
kind — upon a Bill of this 
sort — namely upon the 
secon d readi n g — of — th i s 
Bill — that that proposal 
— that he makes — is ab- 
solutely against the prin- 
ciple—of — the Bilk Now, 
I— de — ny that the prin- 
ciple — of — this Bill— is 
confined — and is to be 
found- in the 5th Sche- 
dule— of— the Bill." 
A few minutes later an 
™&." illustration occurred to 

the inspired orator, and 
was thus brought under the notice of the 
entranced House : — 

"Now, Denmark— It is a remark — able 
country, is Den — mark — for— we have little — - 
or no — dis — ease from Den — mark. The 
i 111 porta t ion— from Den-^ mark — is some- 
thing like fifty - six— thousand — cattle— and 
the curious part of it is this, that nineteen — 
thousand— of these— were — cows — and these 
cmvs came — to — this country — and — had 
been allowed to go — all over — this country 
— and — I have never yet heard— that these 
cows— that— have so — gone over this country 
— have spread any disease — in this country — /' 
This was a mannerism which amused the 
House at the time, but did nothing to 
obscure the genuine qualities of Sir Walter, 
or lessen the esteem in which he was held. 
It cannot be said that the House of Com 
mons was habitually moved by his argument 
in debate. But he was held in its warmest 
esteem, and his memory will long be 
cherished as linked with the highest type 
of English cpuntry gentleman. 

At this time of writing there i L 
talk in the House about payment 
of members. A private member 
has placed on the paper a resolu 
tion affirming the desirability ol 
adopting the principle, and it is even said 
(which I take leave to doubt) — that 
the Chancellor of the Exchequer has a 
card ud .his steeve intended to win thir 
game It would be rash to predict stub- 
born resistance 'I OB r-tnef part of a body that 





has so often proved itself open to conviction 
as has the House of Commons, But I should 
say that to secure this end it would need a 
tussle quite as prolonged and r.s violent as 
has raged round Home Rule, Lowering 
and widening the suffrage has done much to 
alter the personal standard of the House of 
Commons, Nothing achieved through these 
sixty years would in its modifying effect equal 
the potency of the change wrought by paying 

One illustration is found in the assertion, 
made with confidence, that under such a 


system the House would know no more men 
of the type of Sir Walter Barttelot. He was 
not the highest form of capacity, knowledge, 
or intelligence. But he was of the kind that 
gives to the House of Commons the lofty tone 
it speedily regains even after a paroxysm of 
post-prandial passion. The House of Com- 
mons is unique in many ways. I believe the 
main foundation of the position it holds 
among the Parliaments of the world is this 
condition of volunteered un remunerated 

In spite of sneers from disappointed or 
flippant persons, a seat in the House of 
Commons still remains one of the highest 
prizes of citizen life. When membership 
becomes a business, bringing in say ^6 

a week, the charm will be gone, As things 
stand, there is no reason why any con- 
stituency desiring to do so may not return a 
member on the terms of paying him a salary- 
It is done in several cases, in two at least with 
the happiest results, It would be a differ- 
ent thing to throw the whole place open with 
standing advertisement for eligible members 
at a salary of ^300 a year, paid quarterly. 
The horde of impecunious babblers and 
busybodies attracted by such a bait would 
trample down the class of men who compose 
the present House of Commons, and who are, 
in various ways, at touch with all the multi- 
form interests of the nation. 

The great hat question which 

hats and agitated the House of Commons 

skats, at the commencement of the 

new Session, even placing Home 
Rule in a secondary position, has subsided, 
and will probably not again be heard of 
during the existence of the present Parlia- 
ment. Whilst yet to the fore it was discussed 
with vigour and freshness ; but it is no new 
thing, With the opening Session of every 
Parliament the activity and curiosity of new 
members lead to inconvenient crowding of a 
chamber that was not constructed to seat 
670 members* In the early days of the 
1880 Parliament the hat threatened to 
bring about a crisis, One evening Mr. 
Mitchell Henry startled the House by 
addressing the Speaker from a side gallery* 
This of itself was regarded as a breach 
of order, and many members expected 
the Speaker would peremptorily interfere. 
But Mr. Mitchell Henry, an old Parlia- 
mentary hand, knew he was within his right 
in speaking from this unwonted position. 
The side galleries as far down as the Bar are 
as much within the House as is the Treasury 
Bench, and though orators frequenting them 
would naturally find a difficulty in catching 
the Speaker's eye, there is no other reason 

h PUftnUSK. 




why they should nut per- 
manently occupy seats 
Mr. Mitchell Henry ex- 
plained that he spoke from 
this place because lie could 
not find any other. He 
had come down in ordin- 
arily good time to take 
his seat, and found all 
the benches on the floor 
appropriated by having 
hats planted out along 
them* In each hat was 
fixed a card, indicating the 
name of the owner. What 
had first puzzled Mr. 
Henry, and upon reflec- 
tion led him to the detec- 
tion of systematic fraud, 
was meeting in remote parts of the House, 
even in the street, members who went about 
wearing a hat, although what purported to 
be their headgear was being used to stake 
out a claim in the Legislative Chamber, 
Mr. Henry made the suggestion that only 
what he railed " the working hat n should 
be recognised as an agent in securing a seat. 
The strict morality of this arrangement 
was acquiesced in, and its adoption generally 
approved. But nothing practical came of it. 
By-and-by, in the ordinary evolution of things, 
the pressure of competition for seats died 
off, and the supernumerary hat disappeared 
from the scene* This Session the ancient 
trouble returned with increased force, owing 
to the peculiar circumstances in 
which political parties are subdivided. 
The Irish members insisting upon 
retaining their old seats below the 
gangway to the left of the Speaker, 
there was no room for the I )isseniient 
Liberals to range themselves in their 
proper quarters on the Opposition 
side. They, accordingly, moved over 
with the Liberals, and appropriated 
two benches below the gangway, 
thus driving a wedge of hostile force 
into the very centre of the Ministerial 
ranks. It was the Radical quarter 
that was thus invaded, and its oc- 
cupants were not disposed tamely to 
submit to the incursion. The posi- 
tion was to be held only by strategy* 
Hence the historic appearance on the 
scene on the first day of the Session 
fif Mr. Austen Chamberlain with 
relays of hats, which he set out along 
the coveted benches, and so secured 


them for the sitting. On 
the Other side of the 
House a similar contest 
was going forward between 
the Irish Nationalist 
members, represented by 
Dr. Tanner, and their 
Ulster brethren, who ac- 
knowledge a leader in 
Colonel Saundcrsom 

Th?se tactics are made 
possible by the peculiar, 
indeed unique, arrange- 
ment by which scats are 
secured in the House of 
Commons. In nil other 
Legislative Assemblies in 
the world each member 
has assigned to him a seat 
and desk, reserved for him 
as long as he is a member. That would 
be un impossible arrangement in the House 
of Commons, for the sufficient reason that 
while there are 670 duly returned members, 
there is not sitting room for much more 
than half the number. When a member of 
the House of Commons desires to secure a 
particular seat for a given night he must 
be in his' place at prayer time, which on 
four days a week is at three o'clock in 
the afternoon. On the fifth day, Wednesday, 
prayers are due at noon* At prayer time, and 
only then, there are obtainable tickets upon 
which a member may write his name } and, 
sticking the pasteboard in the brass frame at 
the back of the seat, is happy for the night. 





Where, what Mr Mitchell Henry called, 
the non-working hat comes in is in the 
practice of members gathering before prayer 
time and placing their hats on the seat they 
desire to retain. That k a preliminary that 
receives no official recognition. " No prayer, 
no seat/' is the axiom, and unless a member 
b^ actually present in the body when the 
Chaplain rends prayers, he is not held to have 
established a claim, Thus his spiritual 
comfort is subtly and indispensably linked 
with his material comfort 

There is nothing new under the 
glass roof of the House of 
Commons, not even the ballot- 
ing syndicates, of which so much 
has been heard since the Session 
opened- Fifteen or sixteen years ago the 
Irish members aston- 
ished everybody by the 
extraordinary luck that 
attended tfiem at the 
ballot. The ballot in 
this sense has nothing 
to do with the electoral 
poll, being the process 
by which precedence 
for private members is 
secured. When a pri- 
vate member has in 
charge a Bill or re- 
solution, much depends 
on the opportunity he 
secures for bringing it 
forward* Theoretically, 
Tuesday, Wednesday, 
and (in vanishing de- 
gree) a portion of Fri- 
day are appropriated nA 
to his use. On 
Tuesday he may bring on motions; on 
Wednesday advance Bills ; and on Friday 
raise miscellaneous questions on certain 
stages of Supply. On days when notices of 
motion may be given there is set forth on 
the Table a book with numbered lines, 
on which members write their names. Say 
there are fifty names written down — or four 
hundred, as was the melancholy case on the 
opening night of the Session —the Clerk at the 
Table places in a box a corresponding 
number of slips of paper. When all is 
ready for the ballot, the Speaker having 
before him the list of names as written down, 
the Clerk at the Table plunges his hand into 
the lucky-box and taking out, at random, one 
of the pieces of paper, calls aloud .the 
number marked upon it. 

Say it is 365, The Speaker, referring to the 

list he holds in his hand, P.nas that Mr. 
Smith has written his name on line 363. 
He thereupon calls upon Mr. Smith, who 
has the first chance, and selects what in his 
opinion is the most favourable day, ceteris 
fari&tts, the earliest at liberty. So the 
process goes through till the last paper in 
the ballot-box has been taken out and the 
list is closed. 

It is at best a wearisome business, a 
criminal waste of time, useless for practical 
purposes. It was well enough when Parlia- 
ment was not overburdened with work, and 
when the members balloting for places 
rarely exceeded a score. But when, as 
happened on the opening day of the Session, 
two of the freshest hours of the sitting are 
occupied by the performance, it is felt 

that a change is desir- 
able This could easily 
be effected, there being 
no reason in the world 
why the process of 
balloting for places on 
the Order Book should 
not be carried out as 
was the balloting for 
places in the Strangers' 
Galleries on the night 
Mr. Gladstone intro- 
duced his Home Rule 
Bill. On that occasion 
the Speaker's Secretary, 
with the assistance of 
a clerk, and in the pre- 
sence of as many 
members as cared to 
look on, arranged the 
>Tt ballot without a hitch 

or a murmur of com- 
plaint from anyone concerned. The sooner 
the public balloting is relegated to the 
same agency the better it will be for the 
dispatch of public business. With it should 
disappear the consequent wanton waste of 
time involved in members bodily bringing 
in their Bills, a performance that appro- 
priated nearly half the sitting on the 
second day of the Session. 

The spread of the syndicate contrivance 
would happily hasten the inevitable end. It 
was by means of the syndicate, though it was 
not known by that name, or indeed at first 
known at all, that the Home Rule party 
managed in the Parliament of 1880-85 *° 
monopolize the time pertaining to private 
members. Their quick eyes detected what 
is simple| r .p,^|wf|^ F ^|ain e d-th a t the 
ballot system contained potentialities for 




increasing the chances of a Bill by twenty 
or thirty fold. Suppose they had ten 
Bills or motions they desired to bring 
forward. They usually had 111 are , but 
ten is sufficient to contemplate. These were 
arranged in accordance with their claim to 
priority. Every member of the party wrote 
his name down in the ballot-book, thus 
securing an individual chance at the ballot 
Whilst the ballot was in progress, each had 
in his hand a list of the Bills in their order 
of priority. The member whose name was 
first called by the Speaker gave notice of the 
most urgent Bill, the second and third taking 
the next favourable positions } and so on to 
the end. 

It will be seen that, supposing fifty or sixty 
members thus combined, their pet Bill would 
have fifty or sixty chances to one against the 
hapless private member with his solitary voice. 
The secret was long kept, and the Irish 
members carried everything before them at 
the ballot. Now the murder is out, and 
there are almost as many syndicates as there 
are private Bills. All can grow the flower 
now, for all have got the seed* But it 
naturally follows that competition is practi- 
cally again made even. The advantage to be 
derived from the syndicate system has 
appreciably decreased, whilst its practice 
immeasurably lengthens the process of 

Mr. Louis Jennings, though he 
louis sat on the same side of the 
Jennings. House as Sir Walter Barttelot, 
and within a week or two of his 
neighbour's departure likewise answered to 
the old Lobby cry, " Who goes home ? " was 
of a different type of Conservative, was a man 
of literary training, generous culture, and wide 
knowledge of the world, and made his fame 
and fortune long before he entered the House 
of Commons, It was the late Mr. Delane 
whose quick eye discovered his journalistic 
ability, and gave him his first commission on 
the Times. He visited America in the service 
of that journal, and being there remained to 
take up the editorship of the Neiv York 
Times, making himself and his journal famous 
by his successful tilting against what, up to 
his appearance in the list, had been the 
invincible Tweed conspiracy. He edited the 
H Croker Papers, "and wrote a u study M of Mr. 
Gladstone — a bitterly clever book, to which 
the Premier magnanimously referred in the 
generous tribute he took occasion to pay to 
the memory of the late member for Stockport. 

Upon these two books Mr. Jennings's 
literary fame in this country chiefly rests It 

would stand much higher if there were wider 
knowledge of another couple of volumes he 
wrote just before he threw himself into the 
turmoil of Parliamentary life. One is called 
11 Field Paths and Green Lanes " j the other 
" Rambles Among the Hills." Both were 
published by Mr. Murray, and are now, I 
believe, out of print They are well worth 
reproducing, supplying some of the most 
charming writing i know, full of shrewd 
observation, humorous fancy, and a deep 3 
abiding sympathy with all that is beau- 
tiful in Nature. I thought 1 knew Louis 
Jennings pretty intimately in Parliamentary 
and social life, but I found a new man hidden 
in these pages -a beautiful, sunny nature, 
obscured in the ordinary relations of life by 
a somewhat brusque manner, and in these 
last eighteen months soured and cramped by 

MK. UH51A jrv\ivc»s. 

a cruel disease, Jennings knew and loved 
the country as Gilbert White knew and loved 
Selbome. Now 

His part in all the pomp that fills 
The circuit of the summer hills 
Is, that his gTave is green. 

His Parliamentary career was checked, 
and, as it turned out, finally destroyed, by 
an untoward incident, After Lord Randolph 
Churchill threw up the Chancellorship of 
the Exchequer and assumed a position of in- 
dependence on a back bench, he found at, 
able lieutenant in his old friend houis Jen- 
nings- At that time Ix)rd Randolph was 
feared on the Treasury Bench as much as he 
was hated. For a Conservative member to 
associate himself with him was to be ostracised 
by the official Conservatives. A man of Mr. 
JennJRgs'&]j<j^^^ ability 

was worth Duymg offhand it was brought to his 

3 88 


knowledge that he might have a good price if 
he would desert Lord Randolph. He was 
not a man of that kind, and the fact that the 
young statesman stood almost alone was 
sufficient to attract Mr. Jennings to his side, 


Up to an early date of the Session of iSyo 
the companionship, political and private, of 
Ix>rd Randolph Churchill and Mr. Jennings 
was as intimate as had been any one of his 
lordship's personal connections with members 
of the Fourth Party- This alliance was rup- 
tured under circumstances that took place 
publicly, but the undercurrent of which 
has never been fathomed. One Monday 
night, shortly after the opening of this 
Session of 1890, there ap- 
peared on the paper a resolu- 
tion standing in the name of 
Mr. Jennings, framed in terms 
not calculated to smooth the 
path of the Conservative 
Government, just then par- 
ticularly troubled. That Mr. 
Jennings had prepared it in 
consultation with Ixird Ran- 
dolph Churchill was an open 
secret. Indeed, Lord Ran- 
dolph had undertaken to second it. Be- 
fore the motion could be reached a 


debate sprang up, in which Lord Ran- 
dolph interposed, and delivered a speech 
which, in Mr. Jennings's view, entirely cut the 
ground from under his feet. He regarded this 
as more than an affront — as a breach of faith, 
a blow dealt by his own familiar friend. 
At that moment, in the House, he broke 
with Lord Randolph, tore up his amendment 
and the notes of his speech, and declined 
thereafter to hold any communion with his 
old friend. 

No one, as I had opportunity of learning 
at the time, was more surprised than Lord 
Randolph Churchill at the view taken of the 
event by Mr t Jennings, He had not thought 
of his action being so construed, and ha<J 
certainly been guiltless of the motive attri- 
buted to him. There was somewhere and 
somehow a misunderstanding. With Mr. 
Jennings it was strong and bitter enough to 
last through what remained of his life. 

Whilst he did not act upon the first 
impulse communicated to one of his friends, 
and forthwith retire from public life, he with 
this incident lost all zest for it Occasionally 
he spoke, choosing the level, unattractive 
field of the Civil Service Estimates* It 
was a high tribute to his power and capacity 
that on the few occasions when he spoke 
the House filled up, not only with the 
contingent attracted by the prospect of any- 
thing spicy, but by grave, financial authori- 
ties, Ministers and ex-Ministers, who listened 
attentively to his acute criticism. His 
public speaking benefited by 
a rare combination of literary 
style and oratorical aptitude. 
There was no smell of the 
lamp about his polished, 
pungent sentences. But they 
had the unmistakable mark 
of literary style. Had his 
physical strength not failed, 
and his life not been em- 
bittered by the episode 
alluded to, Louis Jennings 
woukl have risen to high position in the 
Parliamentary field. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

AGE 4. 

From a Photo by Ltvitik^ pari*. 


was born in Louisiana, her 
father being Scotch and her 
mother partly Mexican- She 
was educated by her mother, 
and taught to art nnd recite from baby- 

played all over the States as an amateur, and 
when the occasion came, and she was thrown 
on her own resources, she adopted the stage as 
a profession. She has played in every country 

JfafVI a Phut**. hy\ 

ACE- 24- litf*. tptHry, 

and city where the English language is spoken, 
Mrs. Potter has, perhaps, the largest repertoire of 
any living actress. 

AGE iS. 

From a Photo, by Elmer it Chiekeriaff, fi^thm. 

hood, her mother making her play on all 
occasions such as birthdays and Christmas. 
Her first appearance before friends was at the 
age of five years. She was married at seven- 
teen. She never spoke English until fourteen, 
speaking entirely French and Spanish. She 

From a Photo, ftp] 



Born 1841. 

terest to the portraits 
of their Royal High- 
nesses at different ages. 
The accompanying 
portraits of the Prince 
represent him in his 
nursery; as an Oxford 

undergraduate; in High- 
land costume ; in the 
uniform of a Colonel of 
the Royal Horse Guards 
(Blues) ; and finally, in 
an excellent likeness* at 
the present day. 

From a Fniniiny hy] age y. 

[F. WiRtrrhtilttr* 


Frvm a Photo* &y J age 40, [ 1F\ & 2) r Jftwmf. 

/VtftJL u 



39 1 

ACE 17. 

e Photo, by ttaium, Copc*hapm 

age t9- 
e Photo, bp Bmpham* Pari \ 


AGE 22, 
(With tht DUKK OF VORK 

as a Baby,) 
Pmma Photo, by W. A D. Homey. 


first por- 
trait of the 
Princess of 
Wales was 
taken in her 
native city nearly two 
years before her arrival 
in England ; the second 
was taken at the time of 


Prom a Photo, bp W. <t D. 


ACE ^i. 

Prom a Photo. h& Lafa#ttU , 


her marriage; the third 
when her second son, the 
present Duke of York, 
was about a year old ; and 
the fourth in her robes as 
Doctor of Music of the 
Royal University of I: - 
land in 1 885. The differ- 
ence in the fashion of the 
drosses in these portraits 
is striking, but not more 
^oJt^an the beauty of the 



Frvm q Miniature. 

Born 1834. 
who has of late years 
won world - wide 
popularity as the 
writer of " Mehalah/' <( John 
Herring, "and many other novels, 
was born at Exeter, and is the 
eldest son of Mr. Edward 
Baring -Gould, of Lew-Tren- 

Peace for the County 
of Devon* He had 
written on various 
subjects of historical 
research before he 
took to novel-writing. 

HUTU**, Obtaifer. 

Fttttn n ] 

At.LJ l6. 


chard, Devon, where the family has resided 
for nearly 300 years, and of which place he is 
now the Rector. He is also Justice of the 


From a Pkoia. by W. <t D. Dwnup. 



«» t 

From a Photo, fry) AGE 4& {Dickinson <t Fa§br 

Alexandria he was in command of the gunboat Condor, 
and his gallant conduct in bearing down on the Mara- 
bout batteries and silencing guns immensely superior 
to his own was so conspicuous that the Admiral's 
ship signalled: "Well done, Condor 7" In 1884 he 
assisted Lord Wolseley in the Nile Expedition. 

From a] age 14- [ftflwlh 

Born 1846. 
BERESFORD, son of 


;4 the Marquis of Water- 
^q ford, entered the Royal 
Navy at thirteen, served 
several warships, and accom- 

Fi-om «] 


panied the Prince of Wales to 
India, in 1875, as Naval Aide-de- 
Camp. At the bombardment of 


[Mvrivk, Aiten*- 



rTOWl ft J 

AGE 2. 


Born 1847. 

JOHN ROBERTS, the finest 
billiard player the world has ever 
seen, was born at Ardwick, Man- 
chester. He commenced his 
career as a billiard player very 
early in life, for when only a child of eleven 
he assisted his father at the George Hotel, in 
Liverpool, his father at the time being univer- 



AGE 16. 

I Phvieontpk 

sally considered the best in England, and, 
consequently, we find that he had in early 
life the very best model from which to study 

the game. Some thirty years ago, when 
Roberts's father was champion, a break of 
over 200 was a rare event, whereas now it is 

/Yefno Pkmttffrnph by H hidflck Birmingham 

an everyday occurrence with third-rate players. 
Roberts's highest all-round break is 3,000. 
His superiority to those who rank next to 
him is unprecedented, as evinced by his 
recent victory over Peall, to whom he gave 
9,000 in 24,000* Roberts's style is simply 

From® Photo, by I 


[Ahtl . iU>rttl*i)t. 

perfect, and it is wonderful to watch the 
various strokes during a long break, consist- 
ing as they do of some requiring great execu- 
tion and power of cue, 2nd others showing 
the utmost q f ^^<>f|^ E ^| T y 








There is a certain coolness, almost to be 
called a positive want of cordiality, between 
snakes and human beings. More, the snake is 
never a social favourite among the animals called 
lower. Nobody makes an intimate friend of a 
snake. Popular natural history books are filled 
and running over with anecdotes of varying ele- 
gance and "mendacity, setting forth extraordinary 
cases of affection and co-operation between a cat 
and a mouse, a horse and a hen, a pig and a cock- 
roach, a camel and a lobster, a cow and a wheel- 
barrow, and so on ; but there is never a snake in one 
of these quaint alliances. Snakes do not do that sort 
of thing, and the anecdote-designer's imagination has 
not yet risen to the feat of compelling them, although 











*SS W38M 


■B-.*^*^ .— - 1 " ■ -'■ i 




4 oS 


— onir- 1 


the stimulus of competition may soon cause it. The case 
most nearly approaching one of friendship between man and 
snake known to me is the case of Tyrrell, the Zoo snake 
keeper, and his "laidly worms." But, then, the friendship 
is mostly on Tyrrell's side, and, moreover, Tyrrell is rather 
more than human, as anyone will admit who sees him hang 
boa constrictors round his neck. Of course one often hears 
of boys making pets of common English snakes, but a boy is 
not a human creature at all ; he is a kind of harpy. 
The prairie marmot and the burrowing owl come into neigh- 

hourly contact with the ,-; — * 

rattlesnake, hut the ac- j* ltt ^ | 
quaintance does 
not quite amount 
to friendship. 
The prairie marmot takes a lot of trouble and 
builds a nice burrow, and then the owl, who 
is only a slovenly sort of architect himself, 
comes along and takes apartments. It has 
never been quite settled whether or not the 
lodger and the landlord agree pleasantly 
together, but in the absence of any posi- 
tive evidence they may be given credit 
for perfect amiability j because nobody 
has found traces of owl in a dead mar- — — 1/ : 
mot's interior, nor of marmot in an owl's. 
But the rattlesnake is another thing. He 

waits till the residence has been made perfectly 

comfortable, and then comes in himself; not in the 

friendly capacity of a lodger, but as a sort of unholy 

writier — a scaly man-in-possession, He eats the 

marmot's family and perhaps the marmot himself: 

curling himself up comfortably in the best part of 

the drawing-room. The owl and his belongings he 

leaves severely alone ; but whether 

^rt> bom a doubt as to the legality of 

distraining upon the goods of a 


lodger, or from a certainty as to the lodger's goods 
including claws and a beak, naturalists do not say. 
Personally, I incline very much to the ekiw-and-beak 
theory, having seen an owl kill a snake in a very neat 
and workmanlike manner; and, indeed, the rattlesnake 
sometimes catches a Tartar even in the marmot 

It isn't terror of the snake that makes him un- 
popular ; the most harmless 
snake never acquires the 
confidence of other crea- 
tures ; and one hesitates to — — 
carry it in his hat, This 
general repugnance is some- 
thing like backing a bill or 
paying a tailor — entirely a 
matter of form. Nothing 

..from < 




I J 

else has sympathy with the serpent's shape. When any other animal barters away 
his legs he buys either fins or wings with them; this is a generally-understood law, 
invariably respected. But the snake goes in for extrava- 
gance in ribs and vertebrae; an eccentric, rakish, and im- 
proper proceeding ; part of an irregular and raffish life 
Nothing can carry within it affection, or even respect, for 
an animal whose tail begins nowhere in particular, un- 
less it is at the neck ; even if any creature may 
esteem it an animal at all that is but a tail with a 
mouth and eyes at one end. Dignify the mouth 
and eyes into a head, and still you have nothing 
wherewith to refute those who shall call the snake 
tribe naught but heads and tails; a vulgar and 
raffish condition of life, of pot-house and Tommy- 
Dod suggestion. 

And this is why nothing loves a snake. It is 
not because the snake is feared, but because it 
is incomprehensible. The talk of its upas-like 
influence, its deadly fascination, is chiefly pic- 
turesque humbug. Ducks will approach a 
snake curiously, inwardly debating the possi- 
bility of digesting so big a worm at one meal; 
the moving tail-tip they will peck at cheerfully, 
This was the sort of thing that one might have 
observed for himself years ago, here at the Zoo; 
at the time when the snakes lived in the old 
house in blankets, because of the unsteadiness of the thermo- 
meter, and were fed in public. Now the snakes are fed in strict 
privacy lest the sight overset the morals of visitors ; the killing of a bird, a rabbit, or a 
rat by a snake being almost a quarter as unpleasant to look upon as the killing of the same 
animal by a man in a farmyard or elsewhere* The abject terror inspired by the presence 
of a snake is such that an innocent rat will set to gnawing the snake's tail in default of more 

b ,0^*^ 




usual provender; while a rabbit placed 
with a snake near skin-shedding time 
will placidly nibble the loose rags of 
epidermis about the snake's sides. 

The pig treats the snake with dis- 
respect, not to say insolence ; nothing, 
ophidian or otherwise, can fascinate a 
pig. If your back garden is infested 
with rattlesnakes you should keep 
pigs. The pig dances contemptuously 
on the rattlesnake, and eats him with 
much relish, rattles and all. The last emotion 
of the rattlesnake is intense astonishment ; and 
astonishment is natural, in the circum- 
stances. A respectable and experienced 
rattlesnake, many years established in 
business, has been accustomed to spread 
panic everywhere within ear and eye 
shot ; everything capable of motion has started 
off at the faintest rustle of his rattles, and his 
view of animal life from those expres- 
sionless eyes has invariably been a back 
view, and a rapidly diminishing one. 
After a life-long experience of this sort, 
to be unceremoniously rushed upon by 
a common pig, to be jumped upon, to 
be flouted and snouted, to be treated as 
so much swill, and finally to be made a snack 
of — this causes a feeling of very natural and pain- 
ful surprise in the rattlesnake. But a rattlesnake 
is only surprised in this way once, and he is said 
to improve the pork. 

As a tour de force in the gentle art of lying, 
the snake-story is justly esteemed. All the 
records in this particular branch of sport are 
held in the United States of America, where 
proficiency at snakes is the first qualification of 
a descriptive reporter. The old story of the 
two snakes swallowing each other from the tail 
till both disappeared ; the story of the snake 
that took its own tail in its mouth and trundled 
after its victim like a hoop ; the story of 
the man who chopped a snake in half 









. ,1 HO|' 

just as it was 
bolting a rat, 
so that the 
rat merely 
t o d die d 
through the fore- 
most half nnd 
escaped — all 
these have been beaten out 
of sight in America. At pre- 
sent Brazil claims the record 
tor absolute length of the 
snakes themselves ; but 
Yankee snake-story man 
soon claim that record 
He will explain that 
State pays a 
reward for every 
killed with- 
in its own 
limits ; but 
that there 

are a I way disputes be- 
tween the different States as to payment : because 
most of the snakes killed are rather large, crawling across several States at once. 

Here, among a number of viperine snakes of about the same size, is a snake that lives on 
eggs. He is about as thick as a lead pencil, but that doesn't prevent his swallowing a large 

pigeon's egg whole, nor even a herd's egg at a pinch. 
It dislocates his jaw, but that is a* part of his pro- 
fessional system, and when the business is over he 
calmly joints up his jaw again 
and goes to sleep- He is 
eccentric, even for a 
snake, and wears his 
teeth on his backbone, 
where they may break 
the egg-shell so that he may 
spit it away. When he first 
stretched his head round 
an egg, the viperine snakes 
in the same case hastily 
assumed him to b^ a very 

large tadpole ; and since tadpoles are regarded with 
gastronomical affection by viperine snakes* they began an 
instant chase, each prepared to swallow the entire 
because a 
'' snake never 

hesitates to swallow anything merely on account 
of its si/.e. When finally the egg-swallow er broke 
the egg, and presented to their gnze the 
crumpled shell, the perplexed viper ines 
subsided, and retired to remote corners of 
the case to think the matter over and 
forget it — like the crowd dispersed by 
the circulating hat of the street- 

Familiarity with the snake breeds 

** MINE I 



toleration. He is a lawless sort of creature, 

certainly, with too many vertebra; and no 

eyelids ; but he is not always so horrible as he 

is imagined A snake is rather a pleasant 

tiling to handle than otherwise. Warm, firm, 

dry, hard and smooth on the scales, rather like 

ivory to the touch. He is also a deal 

heavier than you expect When for 

good behaviour 1 have been admitted 

to Tyrrell's inner sanctum here, and 

to the corridors behind the lairs, where hang 

cast skins like stockings on a line, I have 

handled many of his pets, I have never got 

quite as far as rattlesnakes, because rattlesnakes 

have a blackguardly, welshing look that I don't 

approve. But there is a Robbcn Island snake, 

about five feet long, with no poison, who is 

very peasant company. It is a pity that these snakes have 

no pet names. I would suggest The Pirate as a suitable 

name for any snake from Robbeu Island, 

For anybody who has been bitten by a 
cobra, or a rattlesnake, or a puff-adder, there 
are many remedies, but few people who can 
recommend them from personal experience. 
It is to be feared that most of them unfor- 
tunately die Before writing their testimonials* 
Perhaps they were too long deciding which 
thing to take. The most famous of these 
remedies, and probably the best, on the 
whole, is to get excessively drunk. It is 

expensive to get drunk after n poisonous snake-bite, because something in die veins fortifies 
the head against the first bottle or two of whisky, (letting drunk before the bite won't do, 
although there would appear to be a very widely prevalent impression 
that it will, and a very common resolve to lay up a g*>od store of cure 
against possible accidents in the future. This may be 
misdirected prudence, and nothing else, but there is often 
a difficulty in persuading a magistrate to think so. 

The snake will be eccentric, 
even in the matter of its eggs. 
Most snakes secure originality 
and independence in this matter 
' " - by laying eggs like an elongated 

tennis-ball — eggs covered with a 
All the rest go further, and refuse 



sort of white parchment or leather instead of shell 
to lay eggs at all. 

, #> 


The snake insists on having his food fresh; 
you must let him do his own killing. Many 
carry this sort of fastidiousness so far as to 

^^j^pjginal from _ 





prefer taking it in alive, and leaving it to settle 
matters with the digestive machinery as best 
it may. A snake of this sort has lost his 
dinner before now by gaping too soon ; a 
frog takes a deal of swallowing before he 
forgets how to jump. 

It is well to remember what to do in case of 
attack by a formidable snake. If a boa con- 
strictor or a python begin to 
curl himself about you, you 
should pinch him vigorously, 
and he will loosen his folds 
and get away from you. 
Some may prefer to blow 
his head off with a 
pistol, but it is 
largely a matter of 
taste, and one 
doesn't want to 

damage a good specimen. The anaconda, 
however, who is the biggest of 
the constrictors, won't let go for 
pinching; in this case the best 
thing is not to let him get hold of 
you at all Tobacco-juice will kill 
a puff-adden If you come across a 
pufTadder, you should open his 
mouth gently, remembering that the 
scratch of a fang means death in half 
an hour or so, and give him the 
tobacco-juice in a suitable dose; or 
you can run away as fast as possible, which is kinder to 
the snake and much healthier for yourself. 

By far the biggest snake here is the python, in the 
case opposite the door; he is more than twenty feet 
long, and is seriously thinking of growing longer still. 
Tyrrell picks him up unceremoniously by the neck and 
shoves him head first into a tank of water, when he 
seems to need a little stir and amusement I think, 
perhaps, after all, the most remarkable being exhibited in the reptile 
house is Tyrrell. I don't think much of the Indian snake-charmers 
now. See a cobra raise its head and flatten out its neck till it looks 
like a demoniac flounder set on end; keep in mind 
that a bite means death in a few 
minutes ; presently you will feel yourself 
possessed with a certain respect for a 
snake-charmer who tootles on a flute while 
the thing crawls about him. But Tyrrell 
comes along, without a flute — without as 
much as a jewVharp — and carelessly grabs that 
cobra by the neck and strolls off with it wherever 
he thinks it ought to go, and you believe in 
the European after alL He is a most enthusiastic 

■7*-**£ '\ 



• Vol. T, 



naturalist, is Tyrrell He thinks nothing of festooning a boa constrictor about his neck and 
arms, and in his sanctum he keeps young crocodiles in sundry watering-pots, and other crawl- 
ing things in unexpected places. You never quite know where the next surprise is coming from* 
I always feel doubtful about his pockets* 
I shouldn't recommend a pickpocket to 
try them, unless he really doesn't mind 
running against a casual rattlesnake, 
Tyrrell is the sort of man who is quite 
likely to produce something from his 
cap and say: u By-the-bye, this 
is a promising youngster — death 
adder t you know. And here," 
taking something else from his 
coat or vest pocket, u is a very 
fine specimen of the spotted 
coffin -filler, rather curious. It 
isn't very poisonous — kills in 
an hour or so. Now, this/' 


an other 



under his coat, u h rather poisonous, 

Deadly grave-worm— kills in three 

seconds, Lively little chap, isn't he ? 

Feel his head/' Whereat you would probably move on. 


^ Google 

Original from 

Types of English Beauty. 

From Photographs by Alex. Bassano, 25, Old Bond Street, W, 



by Google 




(From the French of Gustave Guesviller.) 

"The young are eager for martyrdom.*' 

A Story for Children* 

make fun of my 
for the colour of 

Y friends 

I confess that I adore it, 
notwithstanding that I have 
good reason to detest it- Truly, 
human nature is a bundle of contradictions ! 
I love yellow because of a certain episode 
in my life which occurred when I was but 
dght years of age I love nankeen above all 
on account of a jacket of that material, 
which played in that episode an important 

Ah ! that jacket of nankeen ! 
How came it about that I was smitten with 
the insane desire of possessing such a thing? 
The cause is not far to seek. It was Lmyc I 
Love in a child of eight ? Why not ? You 
will see presently that I speak without any 

At that now distant time we resided at 

I knew how to read, write, and count. For 
the further progress of my education I was 
^ent to a small day-school, kept by two 

maiden ladies — humble, gentle souls, who in 
affectionate care for their pupils satisfied in 
some degree their instinct of maternal 

Poor Demoiselles Dulorre ! 

Our school, which had been placed under 
the pious patronage of Saint Elisabeth, was a 
mixed one. That is to say, up to the age of 
ten years, boys and girls worked and played 
together. In spite of occasional quarrels, the 
system, on the whoie, worked very well 

I had not been eight days at" Saint 
Elisabeth's before I fell in love. Do not 
laugh ! I loved with all the strength of my 
child-nature, with a love disinterested, simple, 

It w T as Georgette whom I loved, but, alas ! 
Georgette did not love me. 

How much I suffered in consequence ! I 
used to hide myself in corners, shedding 
many tears, and racking my brains to find 
some means of pleasing the obdurate fair one. 
Labour in vatn^ a thankless task, at eight 

years of H#|.i6H'AtLtWftt&RSITV 

To distinguish myself in my studies, to win 



by my exemplary conduct the encomiums of 
the sisters Dulorre — all this made no im- 
pression upon cruel Georgette* She made 
no secret of her preference for a dull, idle, 
blustering fellow of nine years old, who won 
all the races, who could fling a ball farther 
than anyone else, carry two huge dictionaries 
under his arm, and administer terrible thumps. 

This hero was rightly nicknamed Met- Si- 

I knew what his blows were like, having 
been the involuntary recipient of some of 
them. Some, do I say? I had received 
more than a dilatory donkey on the road to 
the fair ! 

And Georgette had only laughed ! 

Obviously, it was absurd to think of 
employing physical force against my redoubt- 
able rival, and intellectual superiority in this 


case availed me nothing. I determined, 
therefore, to annihilate Met-a-Mort by my 
overpowering magnificence. 

Naturally, our parents did not send us to 
school attired in our best clothes. On the 
contrary, most of us wore there our oldest 
and shabbiest garments. Consequently, I 
opined that it would be no difficult achieve- 
ment to outshine all my schoolfellows. 

I should have to coax my parents into 
loosening their purse-strings, and get them to 
buy me a beautiful new jacket. 

It took me a very long time to decide what 
colour this jacket should be. I mentally re- 
viewed all the colours of the rainbow. Red 
tempted me ; but I doubted whether a jacket 
of that colour would be attainable. Should 
it be blue, green, indigo, violet ? No ! Not 
one of these colours was sufficiently striking* 

I paused at yellow. That might do. It is 
a rich colour ; there is something sumptuous 
and royal about it. Summer was approach- 
ing* I decided finally upon a jacket of 

Without delay, I set to work on my school 
garments. It was a work of destruction, for 
I wanted to make them appear as disreputable 
as possible, I slyly enlarged the holes, 
wrenched off the buttons, and decorated my 
person lavishly with spots and stains of all 
kinds. Day by day I watched, with a secret 
joy, the rapid progress of this work of 

In what I judged to be an opportune 
moment, I timidly expressed my desire. 

I had to do more — much more than that 
— before I could obtain my will. I begged, 
stormed, grumbled, sulked, I became almost 
ill with hope deferred. At length, for the 
sake of peace, my parents granted my 
eccentric wish. 

It was a proud moment for me when, for 
the first time, I arrayed myself in that 
resplendent nankeen jacket, won at the cost 
of so many struggles and persevering efforts. 
Standing before the mirror, I surveyed myself 
admiringly for a full hour, I was grand ! 
superb ! 

* Ah ! my Lord Met-a-Mort ! You will 
find yourself ousted at last ! My shining 
jacket will soon snatch from you the prestige 
acquired by your stupid, brute force. Geor- 
gette, astonished, fascinated, dazzled, and 
delighted, will run towards me, for I shall 
now be the handsomest boy in the school, 
Mei-a-Mort will weep for chagrin, as I have 
so often wept for jealousy and mortification.'* 

Such were my complacent reflections as, 
with the stride of a conqueror, I entered the 
precincts of our school, 

Alas for my rose-coloured anticipations ! 
I was greeted with a broadside of laughter. 
Even our gentle mistress^ Ermance Dulorre, 
could not repress a smile, and, above all 
other voices, I heard that of Georgette, who 
cried mirthfully ?fhf rom 

1iaiHfhiOTt".:ifc0ok at him! He is 

a canary-bir 

42 o 


The* word was caught up instantly. All 
the scholars shouted in chorus : " He is a 
canary ! A canary ! " 

Words fail me to describe my bitter dis- 
appointment, my burning shame and chagrin. 
I saw rny folly now. But it was too late — 
the awful deed was done ! Worse than all, in 
order to obtain this now odious jacket, I had 
spoiled all my other jackets, and had nothing 
else to wear ! When, on the evening of that 
most miserable day, I told my troubles to 
my father and mother, they were merely 
amused, and said to me : — 

" It is entirely your own fault You in- 
sisted upon having the jacket, and now you 
must put up with it 1 ?} 

Thus was I condemned to the perpetual 
wearing of my yellow jacket, which entailed 
upon me no end of petty miseries* 

Every day, at school, I was jeered at and 
insulted. Even the babies of three years — ■ 
sweet, blue-eyed, golden-haired cherubs- 
pointed at me with their tiny fingers^ and 
lisped, " Canary I Canary ! " 

How was I to extricate myself from this 
extremely unpleasant situation ? One upper 
garment still remained to me — an old, thick, 
heavy, winter mantle. The idea occurred to 
me that I might utilize this to conceal my 
too gorgeous plumage. We were now in the 
month of June, and the weather was tropical 
No matter ! In class and playground, I 
appeared buttoned up in my big cloak, 
bathed in perspiration, but happy in having 
hidden my shame* 

To Mademoiselle Ermance's expression of 
surprise, I answered that I had a cold. 
I did not deviate widely from the truth. Two 
days later, thanks to this overheating, I had 
a very real one. 

The device did not serve me long. My 
parents found me out, and promptly deprived 
me of my protecting shell, thus obliging me to 
attend school again in the costume of a canary > 
The former annoyances re-commenced. 

Vacation time was at hand, and Georgette, 
of whom I was more enamoured than ever, 
remained still cold and indifferent. 



Original from 



One day we were playing the game of 
brigands and gendarmes, I was one of the 
gendarmes, who were invariably beaten, 

Met-h-Mort had nominated himself captain 
of the brigands* and chose Georgette for his 

Presently, for a few minutes there was a 
suspension of hostilities Brigands and 
gendarmes fraternized, as they quenched 
their thirst, and expatiated upon the joys of 
the fray. Suddenly Georgette, with her accus- 
tomed vivacity, broke in upon our little group. 
She bore in her hands a glass ink-bottle. 

" See ! n said her sweet voice, " Whoever 
will drink this ink shall, by-and-by, be my 
little husband I " / 

Met-a-Mort and the rest exploded with 

When we resumed our game 3 I discovered 
that I had lost all interest in it Georgette's 
words haunted me. 

Cries of joy arose from our camp. The 
enemy's vivandiin had been captured, I 
was told off to guard the prisoner ; you may 
guess whether I was happy ! 

tried bribery, 

" Oh ! let me 
go ! let ine go ! 
and I will give 
you ten pens/' 

Much I cared 
for her pens ! 

"Did you 
mean what you 
said just now, 
mademoiselle ?" 
I timidly in- 

4 < What ? M 

" That who- 
ever would drink 
the ink should 
be your little 
husband ? " 

"Yea, stupid! 
But let me 
go " 

"Then it is 

11 Of course it 
is. Let me go!' 1 

S he wa s grow- J+* a ^ y 

ing impatient. "smw«o*ew 

For a moment I hesitated ; then I said : — 

"Run away quickly ! nobody can see us/ 1 

She did not need telling twice* As swiftly 
as her feet could carry her, she ran off to the 
enemy's camp* 

I was a double-dyed traitor. After 
conniving at my captive's escape I deserted. 
u Can it indeed be true ? " I pondered, 
" Have 1 only to drain that phial of ink in 
order to become Georgette's husband some 
day ? She said so, and she must know ' rf 

I went to look for the ink-bottle, which 
the child had carried back into the school- 
room. There I stood contemplating the 
black, uninviting-looking liquid 

Not for a single moment did I dream of 
swallowing the loathsome stuff in the girl's 
presence. It did not occur to me that she 
ought to be a witness of my sacrifice, or 
that she had demanded it as a proof of love. 
My idea was rather that the beverage was a 
sort of love-philtre, such as I had read of in 
my book of fairy tales. She had said : 
u Whoever will drink the ink shall be my 
husband. ? * 

Faugh ! the bottle was full to overflowing. 
How nasty it looked ! Never mind ! So 
much the better ! I should have liked It 
to have been nastier stilL 

I closed my eyes, and raised the bottle to 

my lips, 

" What are 
you about, you 
dirty little 
thing P H ex- 
claimed a voice 
from behind me. 
at the same 
instant that I 
received a smart 
blow upon my 
uplifted arm. 

Covered with 
confusion, I 
turned, and be- 
held Mademoi- 
selle Ermance, 
who had sur- 
prised me in my 
singular occupa- 

" What is the 
meaning of this 
nonsense?" said 
she, with un- 
wonted severity. 
I had no time 
to explain. Just 

NO IMPATIENT." at j^j. mQmem 

my schoolfellows came trooping in. Georgette 
seeing me standing there, ink-stained and 
disgraced, and already— the coquette !— 
forgetful of her promise, exclaimed, with a 

Vol v.— 65« 



" Oh, the dirty boy ! The nasty, dirty 
boy I " 

Everything, however, has its bright side. 
Mademoiselle Ermance's tap and my own 

child? Does she ever think now of those 
old times? How often have I dreamed of 
her ! I have forgiven her for the tears which 
she caused me to shed Her charming face 



start of surprise, had jerked the ink-bottle dwells always in my mind as a pure ray from 

from my grasp ; my yellow jacket was literally the bygone light of youth. I am not her 

flooded ! 1 was rid of it at last ! husband, and probably never shall be. 1 am 

It was to Georgette that I owed this happy resigned to my fate, which I richly deserve, 

deliverance, I thank her for it to-day ! because — — 

What has become, 1 wonder, of that lovely / did not drink the ink ! 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 



T was all old Joe Wilkings's 
notion, every ounce of it : you 
see, there never was anybody 
anywhere to compare with old 
Joe for "go." He was goey, 
was old Joe — but HI tell you. 
Old Joe had been laid up with rheumatism 
and gout — ah ! and asthma, that's more — for 
a matter of eleven weeks ; pretty bad he'd 
been too, and everybody had said he would 
never pull through, being, you see, ninety - 
seven, and a wooden leg in, that he'd lost in 
the Crimean War ; at least, not the wooden 
one, for he'd found that in the loft over the 
stable years ago and taken to it 

Well, old Joe was sunning himself in his 
wicker chair in the front garden, propped up 
with pillows and things ; and he'd just finished 
his beef-tea, when he beginy to chuckle so, 
in an internal kind of manner, that the last 
drup going down got startled and separated 
from the others on ahead, and tried to turn 
back, and got in a panic, so that it nearly 
choked old Joe, who got purple in the face, 
and had to be thumped. 

He'd no sooner got right than he began 
to chuckle again, but luckily that last drop 
had got further down now, and wedged in 
among its comrades, so that it only heard 
the chuckles faintly, and kept quiet this time. 
"Whatever is the matter, grandfather?" 
said Kate. 

" Matter ? " said old Joe. " Nothing's the 
matter You don't understand the ways of 
young 'uns, nor their methods neither. 

When youth chuckles, it's a sign of good 
spirits and healthy- If you must know, I 
was thinking we might have a picnic— just 
like we used to have sixty years back " 

t( Ah ! that would be nice/' said Kate. 

" Not you" said old Joe. " No young 
'uns in it — they're too slow. No ; I and 
Georgie Worble, and his aunt Susan, and her 
mother, and— — i} 

"Why," said Kate, "Mr. Worble hasn't 
walked from one room to another without 
assistance for Jl 

11 1 know— seven years," said old Joe, "and 
he's seventy -six ; and his aunt Susan's seventy- 
one ; and his aunt Susan's mother's ninety- 
two, and bedridden — but I tell you what : 
it's all fudge and the undue influence of 
imagination —that's the whole story. Georgie 
W, can get up if he likes ; and his aunt 
Susan's bronchitis and paralytic strokes are 
all fudge ; and as to her mother being bed- 
ridden—pooh ■ we'll just see ; and if she 
doesn't dance just as well as me T ' 

" Dance \ " 

"Ah — we'll have a dance, of course — we 
used to have a dance always ; finished up 
with a dance. I've been thinking— and I 
don't mind telling you — that this imagination 
and fudge is making us all old before our 
time ; and I'm not going to stand any more 
of i^ and that's all about it, ?3 

With that old Joe Wilkings waved his 
stick and jumped up — that's what he did ; 
and he ninety-seven years and nine ** T eeks ! 



Kate stared, and all the neighbours stared, 
and Mrs. Widdlcomhe's pug next door stared 
so that its eyes nearly fell out, as old Joe 
trotted quickly out of the garden and down 
the street, and trotted up Mr. Worble's steps, 
and tapped at the door like a boy that means 



UL.D J i i i-_ [RdTTFD IjriCKI.V nt'T OK THE GAKl>EN. 

and when they opened the 
to old Worble's room, and 

to run away 
door, up he ran 
toddled in* 

And now comes in old Joe Wilkings's 
other remarkable quality —his influence over 
others. It was all the outcome of his 
wonderful determination — the influence of 
mind over matter* He could bamboozle 
anyone, could Joe — it was for all the world 
like magic. 

Old Worble was drooping over the fire in 
his big chair, into which he had been put 
hours before. 

What did old Joe do but go right up and 
slap him on the back in that hearty way that 
old Worble went as near screaming as his 
weak state would let him! 

tf Get up, Georgie Worble/' shouted old 
Joe, "and come round with me to Sam 
Waggs to arrange about that picnic ! ' ? 

Old Worble crooned and doddered, and 
feebly repeated u Picnic ? " 

** Ah, picnic, young J un j and you've just 
hit it But GET UP, I say!" 

And, if you'll believe it, the third time old 
Joe Wilkings shouted " Get up " in that voice 
of his, a-s taring straight at Worble all the 
time ? old Worble did slowly get up and stood, 
doddering, but without support 

41 Don't you stand a-doddering at me like 
that as if you were a decrepit old 
idiot instead of a boy; hut just 
reach down your hat and bustle 
along," said old Joe ; and if Worble, 
after looking feebly and hopelessly 
up at the hat on the high peg— 
the hat he had not worn for years 
— didn't hop up on a w T ooden chair 
and fetch it down, and dash it on 
his head, and then toddle down- 
stairs and into the street arm-in-arm 
with old Joe ! 

If people had stared when old 
Joe came out of his garden, what 
did they do nmv when he and old 
Worble went dancing down the 
street arm-in-arm, both of 'em 
chuckling like mad and chattering 
like magpies ? 

At the corner they met old Peter 
Scroutts in a bath-chair. Peter had 
a paralyzed leg, and was so feeble 
that he could hardly wink his eye, 
and so deaf that it was all he could 
do to hear with an ear-trumpet as 
big as the cornucopia belonging to 
the wooden young lady over the 
provision stores* 

" Just you step out and walk ! ; ' 
roared old Joe in the ear-trumpet And the 
queer thing is that old Peter did begin to 
get out ; and not only began, but went on i 
and stood on the pavement ; and then took 
Joe's arm ; and the three went careering 
down the street together ! 

The whole place came out to stare open- 
mouthed at those three old hoys bouncing 
down the street together. 

Half-way down old Joe Wilkings stopped 
with a jerk, and turned on old Peter. 

"What, in the name of goodness, do you 
want with that trumpet machine ? " he roared. 
U A young T un like you! Lookee here — let's 
get rid of it." And Joe snatched the ear- 
trumpet out of his hand, and jerked it over 
a shed into the field behind. It was a good 
long jerk ; and most of the young men of 
the place would have been proud to do it. 

"Can hear just as well as I 

what you can do ! Can't he, young George ? ,f 

Old Peter looked dazed ; hut old Joe 

stood nodding at him so decisively that old 

George t|^^ i aWJP^STT 3 l dded decisivel y 

n ; that's 




too ; and they were so convincing about the 
matter that old Peter began to believe he 
could hear ; and from that moment, if you'll 
believe me, he Ai/hear quite comfortably ! 

Then the inhabitants collected in little 
knots, and talked the matter over ; and 
decided that there must be something wrong, 
in the witchcraft line ; and shook their heads 
doubtfully ; but those three old boys trotted 
into the u Bun and 
Bottle" and ordered 
— ah ! and drank off 
— a pint of beer 
apiece; a thing they 
had not done those 
ten years. Drank it 
off at a draught, if 
you'll believe me. 

Well, then they went 
the round and beat 
up all the old folks of 
that place to bid them 
to the picnic. Those 
old people stared, and 
shook their heads, and 
scoffed j but old Joe 
Wilkings hadn't talked 
to them for five min- 
utes before they were 
up on their feet and 
trotting about as if 
they were acrobats, 
though perhaps it's 
hard to believe* 

" We'll have a 
row on the river," 
said old Joe; "and 
then we'll picnic 
on the bank, and 
see who can climb 
trees best ; and 
then we'll have a 
room at an hotel, 
and finish up with 
a dance, and just 
show 'em how it 
ought to be done/' 
I tell you he 
had to busy him- 
self, had old Joe, 
to keep them up 
to it ; for as soon 
as he had been 
away from any one 
of them a few 
hours that one 
would begin to 
collapse again, and 
think he or she 
was as weak as ever : but ►Joe wouldn't 
allow this; all day long he was here 
and there among them applying the spur, 
bullying them into getting up and danc- 
ing, and roaring with indignation at the 
idea of their being old. He made them 
practise their steps, and while those who 
possessed crutches were doing il^ he sneaked 
off with the crutches and concealed them, 

^Original from 



He wouldn't even allow them sticks, wouldn't 
old Joe — not he. 

Old Worble's aunt Susan got quite young 
and skittish ; and as for old Worble's aunt 
Susan's mother, who was bedridden, up she 
had to get on old Joe Wilkings's third visit, 
and had to toddle across the room. He 
Irilled her — kept on at it ; he was there twice 
a day ; and every time she had to get out of 
bed and toddle across the mom. 
Had to live in her dressing-go wn, and 
could get no peace for the life of her ; 
but, bless you, in ten days she had 
begun to believe that she had never 
been bedridden at all, and that it vv;is 
all fancy ! And all in consequence 
of that strange influence of old Joe 
Wilkings; that awful determination of 

Then there were the pro- 
visions to prepare for that 
picnic ; and old Joe would 
insist upon the old folks 
preparing them. He wouldn't 
have any young people in 
it — not he* He was here, 
there, and every- 
where, co m pe 1 1 i ng 
them to superintend 
the cooking of the 
joints and pies — 
for he was not 
going to have any 
beef-tea or arrow- 
root or pap at the 
picnic, but all good 
solid food for robust 

Well, the event- 
ful day came ; and 
there were the old 
folks collected at 
the railway station 
with their hampers 
and bags. The 
whole population of 
younger folks had 
turned out to see 

them off: but not a single one of them 
was to go, for old Joe wouldn't have any- 
one under the age of sixty-five, as he said 
children were always a trouble at an outing. 
And, what's more, his word seemed to be 
law, and that was the long and the short of it. 

The young people shook their heads fore- 
boding] y, and said they didn't know what on 
earth would come of it all, that they didn't ; 
and they only hoped uncle and aunt and 
grandfather would come back all right ! 

* ovk k sm a h \ 1 1 m i .< » st mm ow . 

But the train came in, and in hopped the 
old [>arties, and away they went. 

Old Joe Wilkings had his work cut out 
now, with a vengeance and all :'for as soon 
as they had got away from the younger folks 
who usually took care of them, they began to 
think it was all over with them and to give 
way : but Joe Wilkings roared and shouted 
at them, and chuckled and threatened until 

he had brought 
them all round 
again. There wasn't 
to be a single bath- 
chair, or crutch, or 
even; a stick, 

Then they got 
out at the statioiv 
they had settled on ; 
and old Joe in- 
sisted on theircarry- 
ing the hampers 
among them down 
to the river : and, 
what's more, he 
chose a way across 
the fields where 
there were a lot of 
stiles to get over; 
and he made 'em 
do it, if you'll credit 
it. Old George 
WoTble's aunt 
Susan's mothei 
pretended she 
couldn't, and sat 
down and wept : 
but Joe Wilkings 
had her on her feel 
again in a twink- 
ling; and over she 
had to go some- 

Then old Peter 

Scroutts began to 

give way and grizzle 

for his bath-chair 

and car - trumpet, 

but when old Joe 

threatened to fight him if he went on about 

that nonsense, why, he just had to behave 


Our doctor had made up his mind that 
something dreadful was bound to come of 
the whole thing, and sneaked after them by 
the njxt train ; but when Joe caught him 
following them, he was so angry and furious 
about it, that the doctor was afraid he would 
have an apoplectic fit-unless he went away as 

jMCOm W^^ l illRS^ heretired; and 




subsequently dressed himself as a rustic, and 
smeared his face so that he might not be 
recognised, and hung about the party, offer- 

good jorum of brand} -and-water apiece, why, 
in half an hour they were as right as trivets, 
if you'll believe me ! 

The cold collation was a great success ; 
and then the old boys had a smoke, and 
were all as jolly as sand-boys. But, suddenly! 
one of 'em looked round and said, £l Why, 
where's old joe Wilkings ? ?J And after ten 
minutes, when old Joe did not turn up, all 
those old folks began to shake their heads 
doubtfully and dismally, and the old boys 
dropped their pipes, and the old ladies began 
to weep and whinnick. 

For old Joe Wilkings, being wild-like with 
merriment, had gone in pretty heavily for the 
champagne and stuff, and had got a hit mixed, 
as you might say, and he had gone off a little 
way to get some dry wood to make a fire to boil 
the kettle over, and then he hadn't seemed 
to be able to recollect which was his way 
back ; and had wandered and wandered off 
in quite the wrong direction ; and at last he 
had got drowsy and fallen asleep in a dry 
ditch with his wooden leg on the lower rail 
of a fence ; and then a local policeman 


ing to carry things, and 
so on. But if old Joe 
Wilkings did not spot 
him after all ; and got in 
such a. rage that the 
doctor thought it best 
to retreat while he had 
a whole skin, and get 
bark safely home. 

So you see old Joe 
was a terrible fellow, and 
that determined it's aw- 
ful to think about. 

Well, they went on 
lIh: iivc T , and they rowed 
little nvces among them- 
selves ; and old Ben 
Jumper and old Tobias 
Budd upset their boat, 
skylarking — both of 'em 
being just turned eighty 
—and went in, and were 
very nearly drowned. 
However, they were 
hauled out and made 
to run about T and taken 
into a cottage, and 
rubbed down, and 
dressed up in borrowed 
clothes; and with a 


Original from 



who didn't know him had taken charge of 
him and trotted him off to Winklechurch, 
which was the nearest village. 

And those old people at the picnic got 
more and more depressed and feeble and 
helpless ; and some of 'em broke down 
completely, and wept and doddered ; for you 
see the influence of old Joe Wilkings's determi- 
nation was rapidly giving out. And at Iast> after 
the doctor had waited anxiously at the rail- 
way station for them, and hour after Hour 
went by without any signs of them,- he 
decided to look them up at any cost ; and at 
eleven that night he found them all sitting 
there on the bank of the river that depressed 
and helpless you can't imagine* Not a single 
one of them all had had the courage to niove, 
and their fright and despair were perfectly 
fearful. And a nice trouble he had to get 
them home — had to send for flys, and bath- 
chairs, and litters, and goodness alone knows 
what all ! 

Well, then they had to find old Joe 
Wilkings, and mighty anxious they were 
about him ; and a nice tramp they had up 
hill and down dale liefore they discovered 
him ; and when they did, they found him 
rolled up in a shawl on the policeman's 
hearthrug, for, of course, Mr! Podder, the 
policeman, was not going to lock up the 
likes of an old boy of his age. Joe Wilkings 
had recovered a bit now, and he was that 
pugnacious he 
wanted to fight Mr. 
Podder and all 
those that had 
come to find him ; 
and what should 
he do but put his 
back against Mr. 
Fodder's parlour- 
wall (smashing the 
glass of the chromo 
of "Little Red Rid- 
ing-Hood "that was 
hanging up), and 
invite the lot to 
"Come on." 

However, they 
quieted him down 
and got him home 
at last ; and when 
he'd got home he 
was that dismal and 
depressed from the 
reaction that he sat 
in his arm-chair all 
day and did nothing 
but grumble and 

burst into tears, for, you see, he'd overdone 
it, and it was bound to tell upon him* But 
after that all his natural pluck and deter- 
mination got hold of him again, and if he 
wasn't mad to have that dance that they had 
been balked of I 

Out he went to beat up all the old folks 
again ; but most of 'em were ill in bed — none 
the better for that picnic, I can tell you, 
though j luckily, it had been a lovely day and 
night, as warm as toast, so that they hadn't 
come to much harm beyond the exhaustion, 

The younger people of the houses where 
he called met him with black looks enough, 
you may be sure, but old joe Wilkings wasn't 
the sort to be daunted by that sort of thing ; 
and bless me if he didn't succeed m getting 
at most of those old parties again, and even 
getting some of them out of bed and putting 
them through their paces as before. 

It was really getting serious, so Mr. Sarme, 
the vicar, and Mr. Weazle, the curate, and 
Doctor Pillikin {who lived in the house jvith 
the brown shutters then, before he moved 
next door to the stores) went and tried to 
get him out of the houses and make him 
keep quiet ; but old Joe roared at them that 
way that they were glad to get away home 
again in despair. 

Ah, he was a plucky one, was old Joe ! 

Well, he persevered and kept at it until 
he had persuaded all those old parties to get 





up a dance in the schoolroom ; they were to 
have printed programmes, and champagne, 
and everything in style— for Joe had a bit of 
money, and was as free as you like with it, 
and meant to stand a good deal more than 
his share of the expenses, / 

Then the vicar and Doctor Pillikin con- 
sulted with the squire— the squire and the 
vicar being justices of the peace — whether 
they hadn't better give old Joe in charge 
and lock him up out of harm's way ; for he 
was getting a regular firebrand, don't you 
see j and they were afraid he'd be the death 
of those old folks. But, after they'd 
consulted, they couldn't hit on any legal 
excuse for 'barging him— (not that that little 
obstacle mostly stand* in the way of justices 
of the peace) - and they had to give that up. 

When the Jtlqy arrived for the ball — for they 
trailed it a *' ball " now, bless you all the 
young people agreed together to lock the old 
parties in their rooms to prevent them going : 
but bless me if old Peter Scroutts and old 
George Worble, and one or two other desperate 
characters didn't 
manage to get out 
somehow, being so 
under the influ- 
ence of Joe ; and 
when the hour 
came for the dance, 
there they were at 
the schoolroom ! 

And they -about 
nine of them — be- 

gan dancing too, and a regular strange kind of 
a hobble it was, as ever was seen : but at 
last the squire and the vicar and Doctor 
Pillikin went down with the sergeant and a 
constable and pretended that a new Act had 
been passed making it illegal to dance after 
nine o'clock, and cleared the hall, with Joe 
dinging away at 'era the whole time, and 
made the old folks go home. 

Next day Joe W likings was going to do all 
manner of things — going up to London to 
consult a solicitor in Lincoln's Inn, and 
appeal to the High Courts, and give the 
squire and the rest of 'em penal servitude at 
Botany Bay, and all manner ; but he'd caught 
such a cold at that ball that he had to take 
to his bed again, in spite of all his deter- 
mination ; ^nd when he got up again after 
three weeks he had lost the use of his one leg, 
and was so weak he hadn't the heart to do 
anything. He was in a bad way for a long 
time, but they say he's getting better 
again now ; and I've heard tell that the 
squire and that lot are beginning to get 

nervous again, 

as the re 's no know- 
ing when he'll 
break out. 

He's a tough 
one, is old Joe 
Wilkings, and, if 
you'll believe me f 
he'll make it hot 
for 'em yet ! 
J. F. Sullivan. 

f . 


by Google 

• Original from 

VqL v.— 56 




Original rrom 



by Google 

Original from 



• - M 


* J V 



W& L* 



Found at Preston, and Photographed by Mr. Luke 
Berry, of Chorley* . 

The above Photograph of a curious potato wa* 
taken by the late Mr. Fox, and sent tons by 
Mr. J, S. Clarke, of New Wandsworth. 


by Google 

Original from 

*r\rkn\<- - Original from 



(In the SAattovr tf the Sierras.) 

C'V,. . .,L Original from 


Bv Iza Duffus Hardy, 

leaning her head on her hand, 
looking at a photograph that 
lay on the table beneath her 
eyes. She had not intended 
to look for ikat when she 
pulled out a dusty drawer fall of old letters, 
papers, and account-books to arrange and set 
in order. But when in the course of her 
rummaging and tidying she found that picture 
in her hand, she paused in her task* The 
neglected drawer stood open, with its dusty 
packets and rolls of faded papers, Barbara 
had forgotten it and all else around her. 

She sat there lost in memory, her eyes 
fixed upon the "counterfeit presentment Ji 
of the face that once had been all the world 
to hen She did not often think of Oliver 
Desmond now j to think of him meant only 
pain — pain of outraged pride and wounded 
love. She had outgrown the time when she 
could not tear her thoughts from him, when 
his face was in her " mind's eye " by night 
and day, and yet she shrank with a shudder- 
ing revolt of anguish from those pictures 
of the past which she could not banish. For 
the memory that was the locked-up skeleton 
of her life — -that rattled its dead bones to- 
day as Oliver Desmond's pictured eyes smiled 
into hers — was a cruel memory indeed, of 
grief and wrong and bitter humiliation, of 
broken troth and shattered faith, insulted 

love, and crushed and martyred pride. The 
blow that had rankled like iron in her 
heart for years was base and cowardly as a 
stab in the back from the hand that should 
have shielded and cherished her. 

How strange it seemed to her to-day to 
think she had outlived it all — the love, the 
anguish, the bitterness, which once had 
seemed undying ! There was nothing to 
disturb her reverie ; she was alone ? had been 
alone all clay, and yet not lonely, albeit this 
solitary Californian ranch, in a secluded 
valley amongst the foot-hills of the Sierras, was 
a lonesome -looking place enough. But Barbara 
had been too busy all day to sit down and 
realize the loneliness, She lived on the Saucel 
Ranch with her married brother and his 
wife, she and her sister-in-law doing all the 
housework between them — servants or 
" helps Jl being unattainable luxuries in those 
parts. Mr. and Mrs. Thome had gone out 
for all the day and all the night ; a nervous 
woman might well have shrunk from being thus 
left alone and unprotected in such a place ; 
hut if Barbara had ever been troubled with 
the nineteenth century malady of "nerves," 
she had lived it down since she had taken 
up her abode on the Saucel Ranch, Her 
hands were always full Even now, her 
day's task done, she had set herself to 
"improve the shining hour" by "tidying*- 



had come across the photograph of Oliver 

It was rarely indeed that Barbara Thorne 
indulged in reverie by day; the night was 
her time for silence and thought ; but now 
she was so lost in the train of memories 
aroused by the sight of his portrait — 
memories which had lost their sharpest sting, 
and only hurt her now with a dull ache — she 
had even forgotten that an hour ago she had 
been looking out for somebody — somebody 
who would never allow the long, lonely day 
to pass without coming to see her ! 

Through the open window a flood of sun- 
light poured in and turned Barbara's fair 
hair to gold. Far off, above and beyond the 
sombre masses of the evergreen pine forests, 
a jagged range of mountain peaks, like tossing 
billows frozen at their height, shone in snowy 
silhouette against a sky of deep and vivid, 
cloudless blue. 

The scene was fair, but Barbara's eyes 
were not lifted to dwell on its beauty ; they 
were brooding on the face of the man she 
had loved, and — had she ever hated him? 
Did she hate him now ? She did not hear a 
sound or a step, till a shadow fell across the 
sunlight, and a man stood on the threshold 
of the long French window, which was open 
down to the ground. 

Barbara turned with a start, and made a 
hasty, involuntary movement to push the 
photograph aside as she sprang up — a move- 
ment that, slight, swift, and momentary as it 
was, yet did not pass unnoticed by the 
visitor's eye. What, indeed, was ever known 
to escape the eagle eye of Rick Jeffreys — 
better known in the neighbourhood of Eden 
City (which was the flattering appellation 
bestowed by its builders on the nearest settle- 
ment) as " Colonel Jeff" ? 

He was a tall man, of massive and power- 
ful build, with somewhat harsh features, black 
hair and beard just touched with grey, and a 
sallow complexion sunburnt as brown as a 
berry. According to the prevalent fashion in 
those latitudes, he wore truculent -looking 
boots up to his knees, and a big sombrero 
hat slouched over his brow. There was a 
stern, hard expression about his face, except 
when he smiled or looked at Barbara Thorne. 
He did not look stern now, as she came 
quickly to meet him, and welcomed him with 
a smile that was perhaps less bright, a blush 
that was certainly deeper than usual. He 
spoke no word of greeting at first, only looked 
at her as if her face were a magnet that drew 
and held his eyes, then put his arm gently 
round her waist and bent his dark head to 

her fair one, and kissed her with infinite* 

Barbara yielded to his caress with the soft 
yielding of a woman who loves. She did 
not belong to the class of those who, deceived 
by one, distrust all thenceforth — who hate all 
men for one false one's sake. And the time 
had come which she had never thought to 
see, when she — even she, Barbara Thorne, 
the deserted, slighted, jilted, held up to the 
insult of the world's pity — yet trusted, laved 
again. For this man's devotion had been 
balm to her bruised spirit — a healing balsam 
poured into the still smarting wounds of her 
once crushed and outraged pride. 

" All alone, my little lady ? " he said, softly. 

" Yes ; Tom and Hatty went off this 

" Been lonesome ? " 

" Oh, no ; I've had plenty to keep me 
brisk and busy." 

Colonel Jeff cast a glance at the table, at 
the photograph which lay there face upwards. 
"And who have you there?'' he inquired, 
but not suspiciously. Barbara conquered a 
foolish impulse to put out her hand to inter- 
cept his as he went to pick up the portrait. 

He glanced at it, first easily, then keenly, 
and his dark brows lowered ominously. 
Colonel Jeff did not look like a person to 
offend — if one had the choice. 

"You are thinking of that blackguard 
still ? " he said ; and in his tone anger and 
pain struggled equally matched. 

" I found that photograph by chance while 
I was looking over a drawer full of old papers," 
she replied, answering the spirit rather than 
the letter of his words. 

"And you were looking at it as if — as if — it 
was all the world to you ! " he retorted. 

"My looks belied me, then. It is a 
memory only — and a painful one," she said, 
with the slightest shade of a tremor in her 
sweet voice. 

"Only a memory?" fixing the stern 
questioning of his piercing eyes upon her. 

" If it were more, should I be what I am 
to you ? " she replied, meeting his look 

"What are you to me?" he demanded. 
The words might have sounded brutal had 
the tone been different, but though they were 
harshly spoken, they bore no suggestion of 
denial or rebuff, no faintest hint of insulting 
disclaimer. " You know," he continued, " we 
both know, that you're the one woman in the 
world to me — but what more ? What beyond 
that? Are you the woman who cares for 

-* 11 H_*| I M II 






" For you more than for all the world 

"More than for ?" He cast a 

frowning glance at the photograph. 

" Immeasurably more," she answered 
steadily, and the unconquerable truth in her 
forced her to add the word, rt to-day ! J ' 

" To-day ? * he echoed, with mingled anger 
and reluctant admiration. " Barbara^ you 

are too honest to deny ,? He paused 

with a quick indrawing of the breath and 
setting of the teeth. 

"To deny the past?" her soft voice inter- 
posed as he paused, " Yes ! I could never 
deny it ! You know, Rick, you always knew, 
that I could not give you my yesterdays ! " 

" Barbara, I am jealous of those yester- 
days ," he said, after a silence* 

" Why begrudge the yesterdays," she 
pleaded, " when all the to-morrows are 
yours ? " 

His dark eyes kindled with a deep and 
tender glow, 

"All? All? None to share with me, or 
rob me? All mine?" H^ framed her delicate 
fair face between his big brown hands, and 
held it thus gently upturned to his as he 
gazed intently into it. " Barbara," he added. 

" do you know it would 
be a bad thing for any 
man who came between 
me and you ? " 

"No one could," she 
assured him earnestly, 

Colonel Jeff clasped her 
in his strong arms. 

" Is that so, indeed, 
my darling ? my Barbara ! 
my own one love," he 
whispered, pressing her to 
his heart, 

"You must not be 
jealous of the past, dear 
Rick," she murmured. 

"Forgive me my 
blundering roughness," he 
entreated her, "I ought 
not to have spoken so to 
you. Forgive me if I 
have hurt you, Barbara ! " 
"It did hurt me a 
little," she admitted. 
"Let us leave the dead 
bones to rest in their 

" I will never dig them 
up again/ 5 he promised 
her. "But put that 
away," he added, pushing 
" It's very like him, and I 
hate to see it near you ! " 

Colonel Jeff had known Oliver Desmond, 
at least by sight and passing acquaintance, 
and he knew — as who did not? — Barbara 
Thome's story ; who had not heard the story 
of the bride deserted at the very altar, 
waiting in her bridal dress amongst the 
assembled party of her own and his friends — 
waiting for the bridegroom who never came ? 
Sometimes even now, when the memory 
of that horrible day came over Barbara, she 
shivered and turned sick and cold at heart. 
Only since she had known Rick Jeffreys 
loved her she had thought of it less ; the 
scar of the old wound had ceased to throb* 

At first she had thought Oliver Desmond 
was dead ; felt sure that nothing but death 
could have kept him from her at that hour ! 
But afterwards she and all the world — their 
world — learnt that he had left her for an- 
other ; the one palliation of the cruel 
wrong and insult he had inflicted on his 
innocent and trusting betrothed being that it 
was no new love, but the resurrection of an 
old, supposed-to-be-dead passion that had 
lured him from her- Then they heard now 
and again mnjciirs of Oliver Desmond's 


the portrait aside. 



career. It seemed to be a downward one. 
They heard of his drinking and gambling, 
sinking from bad to worse ; of losses, of 
utter ruin. Now for years they had heard 
nothing of him at all ; he had sunk out of 
knowledge, gone down under the storm of 
not unmerited misfortune ; and his world 
knew him no more. 

Their little differences made up, Rick 
Jeffreys spent a happy hour with Barbara, 
stayed until the golden haze of sunset was 
stealing soft and slow over the shadows of 
the sombre pine forest and the azure radiance 
of the sky ; then he had an appointment to 
meet an old comrade in Eden City, and he 
tore himself reluctantly away from the Saucel 
Ranch — ready at the last moment to throw 
over his engagement and stay, if Barbara had 
urged him. 

The shades of evening had closed when 
Barbara, having watched her stalwart lover 
out of sight, went into the kitchen, on 
domestic cares intent It was very dark 
there, and she set the outer-door, which led 
into the court-yard, wide open to let in such 
light as there was, while she put a fresh log on 
the low wood fire, and prepared to light the 
lamp and make herself some tea. She was 
thus engaged when she heard a step outside 
the open door — not the quick, confident step 
of a friendly visitor, but a hurried yet hesi- 
tating tread — a tread that suggested skulking 
and hanging about 

It was a late hour for tramps, and Barbara, 
brave woman though she was, looked round a 
little anxiously, to see w T ho the stranger might 
be. She had but just caught a glimpse of an 
evidently tired and travel-worn wayfarer — a 
haggard, dishevelled figure — when he spoke, 
raising his hat as he did so, with the courteous 
gesture of a gentleman. " Excuse me, madam, 
but can you give me a cup of water and a 
piece of bread, and shelter for an hour ? " 

As he spoke, Barbara glanced up with a 
start That voice, it struck upon her ear like 
an echo from the past And even in the 
deepening twilight there seemed to be some- 
thing familiar in the outlines of face and 

" Who — who are you ? " she faltered. 

It was his turn to start as he heard her 
voice, and gazed with sudden searching into 
her pale face in the gloaming. Then she 
knew him — knew, and yet could hardly be- 
lieve her eyes, her ears, her instincts — could 
not realize that in this rough, disordered, 
unkempt figure, with the torn clothes and the 
dark stains on his ragged sleeve, she saw the 
handsome, graceful, debonair lover of her 

girlhood, the recreant bridegroom who had 
left her on the very threshold of the altar ! 

" Oliver ! " she said, in a low and trembling 

And as the last faint glimmer of the dying 
day rested on her face he knew her too. 

" Barbara ! " he ejaculated, as if with a 
gasp, fairly staggered by the recognition. 
" Is it — can it be — Barbara ? " 

" Am I so changed ? " she rejoined, with 
a touch of bitterness in her tone. 

"I— I didn't know— ;r this light/* he 

stammered. " If — if I had known " 

He seemed for the moment more agitated than 
she. She stood stunned, silent, gazing at 
him as if in a dream. " I won't intrude on 
you, Barbara," he said, in a low, unsteady 
voice. " I didn't know you lived here. It 
isn't \o you that I should have come." 

" Oliver ! " she exclaimed suddenly, waking 
up as he made a movement to turn away. 
" Stay ! Did you ask for food and shelter ? " 

"I ask nothing from you," he replied, 

"Come in," she said, firmly, no longer 
faltering or tremulous, but with an almost 
imperious gesture motioning htm to enter. 
" You are tired ? " as she noticed his stiff and 
dragging step. " Sit down while I get a light" 
She struck a match and lit the lamp. In its 
yellowish glare she saw that the stains upon 
his sleeve were red. "What is the matter? 
You have had some accident," she said, with 
a scrutinizing but not ungentle glance. 

"Only a scratch," he answered, in a 
mechanical way, as if thinking of something 
else. " But my coat was nearly torn off my 
back scrambling through the chaparral yon- 
der." He had not taken the chair she 
pointed out to him, but stood — leaning 
with the heaviness of fatigue against the 
shelf that served as a table — looking at 
her in the lamp-light She saw how pale and 
haggard and half-famished-looking he was, 
and turned promptly to set out the supper. 

" Wait, Barbara," he said, abruptly, and 
evidently with an effort " Don't be doing 
anything for me till you know what you're 
doing. Those d hounds of the Vigil- 
ance Committee are after me ; they're on 
my track now. They'll string me up to the 
nearest tree if they catch me ; it's my life 
that's in your hands at this minute, I 
know too well I don't deserve of you that 
you should save it. And on the whole, 
Barbara," he added, with a touch of the 
light and half-mocking coolness she re- 
membered of old, yet with more of bitterness 
now, " I don't know that it's worth saving," 




Barbara turned even paler than she had 
been as she listened to his words* " What is 
it you have done?'* she asked. 

" Oh, I\e not killed anyone* Better for 
me if I had ! One may shoot a man, bat to 
take a horse is a hanging matter here/ 1 

" Tell me about it, Oliver," she said, pre- 
serving her self-possession, for she was no 
fragile flower to wilt and droop before the 
first breath of danger — no, nor the last 

" It's soon told," he answered, is I had 
bad luck — I was cleaned out^ not a red cent 
in my pockets— and so I hired out to a 
farmer away in Pine Valley. We had words 
one day, and he refused to pay me my wages 
— so I took a horse out of his stables and 
rode off." 

" It was madness, Oliver/' she said ; for 
she knew as well as he did that for the horse- 
stealer, in those parts and at that time, there 
was scant mercy and short shrift : it was 
danger to be accused, death to be detected, 

"The horse was worth no more than my 
fair wages," he rejoined. "I was warned 
that they w T ere after me, but I thought I'd 
got a good start of them. They were too 

sharp for me, though— they cut 
across by Devil's Ford, and were 
after me in full chase. They sent 
a hail of bullets after me ; I sent 
all I had back- — I winged one 
of them — I fancy he was the 
ltader, and while they picked 
him up 1 got ahead ; but, un- 
luckily, before I was out of shot- 
range my horse was shot under 
me, I got clear of the saddle and 
bolted into the scrub. I gave 
them the slip for the time. I've 
been crawling like a dog through 
the chaparral — but you know as 
well as I do, those fellows are 
like blood-hounds on the scent. 
I was pretty nearly dead-beat 
when I caught sight of this place, 
I little thought it was you that I 
should find here. 11 

"What is to be done?" she 
said, not helplessly wondering, 
but actively thinking. "First of 
all, you must eat and drink* Then 
— we must see what is the safest 
thing for you," 

She set bread and meat and 
milk on the table ; and Desmond 
fell to the simple meal as if half 

" My brother's horse is in the 
stable/' said Barbara, thoughtfully. 
li He's fast, is old Sultan, and might take 
you safe — if we only knew from which 
quarter they'd be coming j and I'd take the 
risk with Tom." 

"You must risk nothing for me/' he re- 
joined, " I see, Barbara, you are what you 
always were — the salt of the earth ! I deserve 
of you that you should shut your door on 
me now — that when they come this way after 
me you should send them on my trail. But 
■ — you won't do it ? " 

" No," she replied, slowly, " I will not 
do It," 

He leant forward, resting his arm on the 
table, and looked at her. The oil-lamp that 
stood between them shed a circle of light in 
which he saw her face, unshrinking, stead- 
fast, wrought up to high resolve, 

"You were always too good for me, 
Barbara," he said, ** Are you such an angel 
as to have forgiven me ? " 

"What has that to do with it? "she re- 
joined, coldly, " Enough that if I can help 
you now, I will," 

She was looking at him as intently as 
he at HHDlASBeUlBVEiiiow changed was the 



face of the idol of her girlhood — poor 
shattered idol with the feet of clay— base 
metal rhe had taken for pure gold ! It was 
not only that he was older — he had aged 
more than she — but a subtler change had 
passed over him ; he was hardened, 
embittered, coarsened, undefinably deterio- 
rated. She saw the colour mount in his 
haggard cheek at her calm words. 

"Coals of fire," he said, with a touch of 
bitter mockery that disguised pain. " Well, 
if it's a comfort to you to know it, Barbara, 
they burn." 

" Which way are they most likely to 
come ? " she asked, putting personal questions 
determinedly aside. 

" They'd probably skirt the wood ; but yet 
there's no knowing but what they might 
make their way down the gulch and round 
by the creek yonder." 

"Whichever way you go," she said, in deep 
consideration, " you might run right into the 
jaws of danger. And if they found you with 
another horse, and that horse discovered not 
to be yours, it might be worse for you — if 
they refused to believe it had been freely 
lent to you." 

" They'd not be likely to waste much time 
on inquiries," he observed, drily. "It's not 
their way to make allowance for priest or 
prayer. Perhaps I had better lie low for a 
time until the heat of the chase is over. Who 
is here with you, Barbara ? " 

" No one to-day. My brother and his wife 
are out until to-morrow." 

"You are alone ? " he said, with a softening 
of tender respect in his tone. " Forgive my 
intrusion. You must not risk the least trouble 
for me. I'll feel like a king after this rest 
and refreshment here, and be ready to go on 
my way." 

They were still discussing the best course 
to be adopted when a faint sound in the 
distance struck on their ears — a sound so 
faint and far that, had it not been for the 
wonderful clearness and stillness of the 
dry, crisp, dewless air, it could not have 
reached them. 

"Hark! What is that?" said Desmond, 
holding his breath. 

"We can see the road better from 
the upstairs windows — come ! " she ex- 
claimed, springing to her feet. She hastily 
closed the outer door into the court- 
yard, which still stood open, and ran 
upstairs, followed by Desmond. From the 
highest window of the house — a sort of 
landing or look-out at the top of the 
stairs — they had a vk*v of the windings 

of the white road between wood and 

The night had fallen like a dark mantle 
over the land ; but the sky was clear ; the 
moon had risen ; and in the dusk they could 
just distinguish the pale, dim line of the road 
between the shadows of the trees — could even 
discern upon it, though some distance off as 
yet, what looked at first like a dark, blurred, 
swift moving spot, then resolved itself into a 
group of mounted men riding straight for the 
Saucel Ranch. 

"There they are," said Oliver Desmond 
in n low voice ; but he was suddenly and 
strangely calm now the danger was at his door. 
"They're coming here. There's a handy 
tree I see over yonder, just outside your 
gates," he added, with the frequent tendency 
of men who are used to carry their lives in 
their hands to "jest upon the axe which kills 
them." Barbara clasped and wrung her 

" Too late to fly ! " she said. " Before we 
could get Sultan out of the stable and saddle 
him they'll be here ! There's no time for 
escape. You must hide ! " 

" If they've got dogs, I'm a dead man," he 
rejoined, staring at the fast nearing horsemen ; 
"and I shall be dangling from that tree 
before an hour has passed ! " 

Barbara flew to the nearest door and 
opened it, then the next, and the next, 
glancing in wild and eager haste into each 
room to see in which any hiding-place might 
be found — although she knew too well the 
simple arrangements of the ranch offered 
no facilities for concealment. No secret 
chambers, no sliding panels, no dark recesses 
nor trap-doors in this plain wooden " frame " 
house. The outhouses ? No, they would 
probably be the first places searched ; 
the natural idea of the pursuers would 
be that he might have sought refuge there 
unknown to the inmates of the house. 
There were no cellars, no possible safe hiding- 
places on the lower floor ; on the upper floor 
there were but three rooms — Mr. and Mrs. 
Thome's room, Barbara's room, and the 
"guest-room." All were plainly furnished 
with bare necessaries : no " old oak chests," 
no tapestries nor hanging draperies, no cur- 
tained recesses, no place to hide a good-sized 
dog, much less a full-grown man. Barbara's 
was the only one of the bedrooms that could 
boast of a cupboard — a long, narrow cupboard 
which she used as a wardrobe, and kept her 
dresses there hung on pegs. This was the 
only place,.. 

There was not a moment to lose in talk. 




Barbara had hardly time to go downstairs, look 
round the kitchen, and assure herself that 
there were no traces of Desmond's presence to 
be detected there t when the trampling of 
horses sounded close at hand. She heard 
some of the party ride to the front, some to 
the back, and she knew they were surround- 
ing the house, before there was a sharp, 
imperative knock on the frontdoor. Barbara 
opened it. She stood there — a candle she 
had just lighted in her hand — a graceful, 
composed figure, with a placid, inquiring 

The men who were gathered f.n the 
threshold looked somewhat taken aback by 
the appearance of a lady then and there. 

" Excuse our intrusion, madam," said the 
foremost ; " but we have called to inquire 
if there is anyone in this housfc but the 
members of your own family ? " 

" No one f ' J she replied ; and the feeble 
flicker of the candle showed the look of 
innocent, yet naturally somewhat anxious and 
surprised, inquiry on her serene, fair face. 

** Has any stranger been here ? * 

w Na* 

u Miss Thorne," said another of the group 
— in whom she recognised a prominent 
citLen of Eden, with whom she had, however, 
but a very slight acquaintance, and who now 
came forward, doffing his hat with a 
deferential bow — "perhaps we had better 
speak to your brother." 

" My brother is out. I represent the 
family at present, and can answer any 
question you may wish to ask, I presume, 
gentlemen, you come on business?" 

u On business, lady, with which we would 
not trouble you, if it were not that we must 
ascertain whether the person of whom we are 
in search is here. We have ordered a search 
of the outhouses, w T here a tramp might take 
shelter. Meanwhile, with your permission, 
we will look over the house. A man might 
enter by one of the upper windows without 
your suspecting it" 

"Indeed, I trust not," said Barbara. 

(( We have reason to believe that the man 
we want came this way, and he would be 
likely to try to gain entrance and get refuge 

" I hope he will not. But you are most 
welcome to look round," 

Barbara, gracious and self-possessed, 
accompanied them, in hostess-wise, from 
room to room on the ground floor* The 
kitchen looked cheerful with the lighted 
lamp and stove, the kettle singing merrily 
on the fire ; one cup, saucer, and plate were 

set out upon the table, with a cake. Evi- 
dently Miss Thorne had been busy pre- 
paring her mode it tea when their arrival 
interrupted her. The whole party were 
crossing the hall to the parlour when they 
heard the clatter of galloping horses' hoofs, 
and two horsemen dashed into the court- 
yard, hastily dismounted, and entered the 
house. And one of these was no other than 
Colonel Jeff ! He and his companion were 
evidently expected by the w Vigilance * party, 
who received them quietly, as a matter of 
course, and indeed an awaited addition to 
their ranks, one of the men from Eden City 
observing as he nodded a greeting, " Guessed 
you wouldn't keep us waiting long." 

The Colonel looked at Barbara ; she paled 
a little as she met his gaze, albeit there was 
no shadow of suspicion in it, only a tender 
and respectful solicitude lest she should be 
alarmed or agitated by this invasion. But 
she compelled herself to return his look 
calmly and gently s and he was reassured by 
her tranquillity, 

"Any traces?" he demanded, turning to 
the one who was apparently the leader of 
the committee. 

r, and plate w< 

UNCyfljfrr ^ fcjuo COLONEL JEFJ.* 




"Not yet. 

We're going through the 

" Upstars ? " added Colonel Jeff, inquir- 
ingly, briefly glancing at Barbara, and 
indicating the staircase at the end of the 
long hall. 

"Are merely three sleeping-rooms," she 
replied — " my brother's, my own, and our 

" I perceive that anyone might gain access 
to your upper rooms by the roof of the lean- 
to or by the balcony," observed the leader. 
" By your leave, madam, we will go up and 
look round. It will be to your advantage 
also to be assured that there is no one lurk- 
ing about." 

Barbara's heart sank, but she saw it would 
be fatal to offer any objection. " Certainly," 
she said, and led the way towards the stair- 
case. The gentleman from Eden City, to 
whom all the Thornes were known, although 
not intimately, here put in a suggestion that 
perhaps it would be more agreeable to the 
lady's feelings if they were to depute one, or 
say two gentlemen, to accompany her 
upstairs. The suggestion was accepted; 
two searchers were by unanimous vote 
regarded as sufficient ; and Colonel Jeff and 
his friend were deputed to go up with Miss 
Thorne and examine the bedrooms. 

Barbara was cold and sick with terror, but 
she kept her self-possession, and tried to 
cling to one frail straw of hope — that they 
might by some providential chance overlook 
the door of the cupboard (which was papered 
like the walls of the room) and pass it by. 
She trembled lest Oliver, hearing the tramp 
of his enemies' steps approaching, should 
attempt to make his escape by the windows, 
in which case he would fall straight into the 
hands of the detachment who were sur- 
rounding the house and searching the 
grounds. Yet — if they should detect and 
open the cupboard, and she should see him 
caught like a rat in a trap, dragged out to his 
death ! There was no time for thought ; 
the moment was imminent ; in another 
minute the die of Oliver Desmond's fate 
would be cast for life or death. Yet a moment 
to breathe was hers. She turned to Mr. 
Thome's room first. 

"Allow me," said Colonel Jeff, taking the 
candle from her hand as she threw open the 
door and drew back. He stepped in past 
her and held up the light His eagle eye 
swept the room — searched every corner ; he 
saw there was no hiding-place there. His 
comrade stood back respectfully on the thres- 
hold, apparently considerate of the lady's 

feelings, deeming it sufficient for one to enter 
the room, and regarding Colonel Jeff as com- 
petent to conduct the search alone. 

They came next to the spare-room, and 
again the Colonel was the one to enter and 
look carefully round. Was it not partly in 
his liege lady's own interests, and for her 
sake, he was assuring himself that no dan- 
gerous intruder lurked in her home and she 
might sleep in peace ? 

Then was the turn of Barbara's own room 
— the sacred temple that enshrined his 
treasure ! 

This time he had kept the candle in his 
hand. Barbara had made no offer to take it 
back ; she feared the trembling of her hand 
might betray her. Wrought up to a pitch of 
suspense at which every nerve quivered like 
a tense chord, she yet by a desperate effort 
controlled her features and steadied her step, 
but she felt she could not keep her fingers 
from trembling. Colonel Jeff's comrade re- 
mained as before, standirg in the open door- 
way, while the Colonel, accompanied by 
Barbara, stepped into the room. 

As he strode forward she kept near him ; 
it seemed that she could not let him move an 
arm's length from her. It took all her self- 
command to refrain from flinging herself 
between him and the cupboard door. Wild 
thoughts of appealing to his mercy shot like 
lightning through her brain. If only his 
comrade on the threshold had not been 
there watching ! With that man looking on, 
the frail, frail hope would be lost if she 
betrayed any sign of fear or agitation. 

Colonel Jeff stood casting his keen glance 
around. Barbara stood like a statue, all her 
life in her strained eyes, as she followed his 

Colonel Jeff's eye fell on the cupboard 
door. He moved towards it. As he did so, 
he chanced to turn his look on Barbara's face 
and met her eyes. A swift and sudden 
change passed for a moment over his own 
rough-hewn features ; his dark eyes blazed 
upon her with an instant's startled, piercing 
scrutiny ; he set his hand on the cupboard 
door. And still Barbara stood paralyzed, 
rooted to the ground as if the unveiled 
horror of the Gorgon's stare had struck her 
to stone. 

Her lips moved, but no sound came from 
them. In the whirl of thought that dazed her 
she remembered that she did not know, she 
had never asked, if Desmond was armed ! A 
desperate man turns at bay, and sells his life 
dearly. What if Oliver had a knife or pistol 
clutched new. this moment, in his hand? 




What if he shot or stabbed Rick Jeffreys be- 
fore the Colonel could draw his own weapon? 
There would be a moment's horror — and 
Rick, her own true, loyal lover, stricken 
down at her feet, and Oliver, whom she 
once had loved — was it a century ago? — 
dragged out and murdered before her eyes ! 

She felt the springs of life stop at her 
heart as Rick Jeffreys opened the cupboard 
door. He raised the flickering candle. For 
one terrible moment, in which 
Barbara tasted the bitterness of 
death, he stood looking in. 

Then he deliberately drew 
back, closed the door, 
turned and crossed 
the room to his wait- 
ing comrade on the 
threshold. He did 
not cast even an 
instant's glance 
at Barbara as he 
passed hen 

" Is there any 
loft?" he de- 
manded, in his 
usual deep, harsh 
tone, looking 
around the pas- 
sage as if to com- 
plete the search. 

Barbara heard 
a voice, that 
seemed to her 

not her own, issue from her parted lips, 
saying, "No, there is no loft." 

They saw there was not, and proceeded 
downstairs. She followed them with trembling 
limbs. She was almost fainting, but followed 
because she dared not stay behind. The 
ominous silence in which Rick Jeffreys had 
passed her seemed fraught with something 
worse than even the horror she had dreaded. 

The Vigilance Committee did not waste 
their time, but being assured that the fugitive 
they sought was not lurking in or about the 
ranch, they promptly went on their way — 
the leader, before they departed, however, 
pausing to express his regret for any incon- 
venience they might have occasioned the 
lady by their unexpected inroad. 

Colonel Jeff was the last to speak. 

** I will make my apologies later," he said, 
as he took his leave, Barbara caught the 
sinister gleam of his eye as he spoke, and she 
knew that " later" time would be soon* 

Barely an hour had passed since the tramp 
of the horses of the departing Vigilantes 
had died away into the silence of the wind- 


less night, when another knock summoned 
Barbara to the front door. 

M I knew you would come back," she said, 
as the big, powerful form of Colonel Jeff 
towered upon the threshold, tall and dark 
against the background of the darkness. 

"You knew me well enough for that?" he 
rejoined, grimly. 

She closed the door, and turned towards 
the parlour, 

K In here," she 
said, quietly. 

He looked at 
her with a kind 
of fierce astonish- 
ment. Into his 
dark eyes, that 
seemed to bum 
black w r i t h 
smouldering fury, 
there leapt a flash 
of reluctant ad- 
miration, that 
shookand thrilled 
him with a pas- 
sion more of 
bitter wrath than 
of love. Instead 
of being crushed with shame and 
humiliation f drooping in fear and 
beseeching, this woman faced him 
like a queen. 

" It is not with_jw that I have 

come to speak," he said, his deep 

trifle huskier than usual, ** I have 

you from open shame and public 

That's enough between you and 

voice a 



me. I've nothing more to do with you, but 

I've an account to settle with your lover, 

I deal with him first, and alone. Where is 


"Wait," she said, as he made a movement 
to turn to the door. "He is no lover of 

" You will tell me, I suppose," he retorted, 
"that he was hidden there"— he ground 
his teeth upon the word as if he would crush 
it — "without your knowledge and consent?* 1 

"I shall not tell you that." 

" No, you dare not, I saw your face, I 
read it in your eyes before I opened that 
door You dare not tel